On my second night with the Bedouins, it started to drizzle. I did my best to convey to them that this was not going to phase me; I camp in the NW, after all. We didn't put up a tent, but when it was clear that the rain could be off-and-on for awhile, they moved my bedding away from my usual spot by the car so that I could be right up against the cliff. (It reminded me of the night there was a thunderstorm in the Grand Canyon and we slept cosily under an overhang.) This put me on the goat side of the family. As I returned from using the facilities, goats' eyes gleamed green in the light of my headlamp, several yards from my bedding.
"Oh crap."
Once my glasses were off, every dark blob was a goat straying from the herd to assault my face. I'd finally gave and put on my glasses, to discover that half of them actually were goats. Goat-anxiety kept me awake for about an hour, as I listened to them shuffle and fart, trying to gage distance. I woke up at 5:36 am with a goat in my face and screamed twice. I distinctly remember thinking that the screams themselves were particularly lame. The goat I remember only dimly. Someone made it go away, but I felt really bad for waking everyone up and apologized profusely in English. (For some unfathomable reason I didn't seem to know how to say it in Arabic.) Later in the day Abu Laith apologized and explained that I would sleep by the car the next night.
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