momma, or they fall out of the nest, the trees get cut down, you name it. Bad boys shoot the momma bird; I hate a BB gun. There’s a hundred different ways the average person kills a bird, usually without even knowing it. You know how many thousands of birds die every day just smashing into cell-phone towers?”
No, and I didn’t especially want to learn that fact. Thank you, but I had enough trouble getting to sleep as it was.
“So you run, like, a bird-and-wild-animal rescue?” I asked, dodging the dead-bird lecture and shooting for the obvious.
“And some farm animals. I got three goats, all of them lame. Some sicko had them cuffed around a foot, each of them, so tight that the skin rotted. Sheriff ’s detective rescued them after a call, but the infections were so bad they all went lame. I’ve been holding them for the court that’s going to prosecute the owner for abuse. I reckon those goats are mine, though. When the case is over, who’s going to want a small herd of limping goats?”
Assuming this was a rhetorical question, I didn’t jump on it. Besides, if I came home with even one disabled goat, my neighbor Dolly the Hall Monitor of the Universe would have the zoning police on me in half a minute.
Ducking possible goat adoptions, I reached into the next cage, where something that looked like a cartoon version of a blue jay was hopping up and down and shrilling at me—as if this were my fault! When I tried to catch it, it pecked at my hand and jumped back.
“Don’t be shy. That one’s got an attitude,” Lenora said.
I grabbed for the little miscreant and nabbed him. After I lifted him out of his cage so that I could do my Mother-Teresa-with-birds thing, it pecked me again so hard I nearly flung it down.
But Lenora and Angus burst out laughing.
“Here,” Angus said. “Let me take him.”
I passed off the jay to Angus, and turned back to Lenora. “Aren’t jays the bad guys of the bird world?”
“A little bit, but that’s mostly exaggerated. Besides, it’s the bad boys we love the most, isn’t it?” she said, and looked right into Angus’s eyes and smiled. As if on cue, I looked soulfully into Miguel’s eyes, and wondered why he was being so quiet.
When Miguel more or less ignored me, I eased off to the next cage and the next bird. Furtively, I eyed Lenora and Angus, trying to make up my mind whether they were lovers, friends, or what.
Finally we finished feeding the birds, and Lenora said, “I’d show you around, but I’m pretty tired. There’s a lot of small animals in cages and fences outside. I’ve got some gopher tortoises with busted shells in a fence out back. You know, you can fix ’em when they get hit—if the body’s okay, that is—by using duct tape on the cracked shells.”
As I nodded, not sure how useful that tidbit would prove to be in my litigation practice, Angus took her arm. “Let’s go sit down,” he said. “We’ll give Lilly the grand tour another day.”
At Lenora’s invitation, the four of us went into a primitive kitchen, where we took turns washing our hands. The tap water smelled of sulfur, but I splashed my face anyway. Miguel asked for water for me and Lenora pulled a bottle of Zephyr Hills, the local spring water, out of an ancient and rusting refrigerator. I all but snatched it from her.
“Sit,” she said, but she kept standing, so we did too.
“We can’t stay long,” Angus said. “We’ve got that phosphate meeting in Bradenton. Sure you don’t want to come? Help stop Antheus Mines?”
“I hate those bastards so much. Especially that M. David Moody, what he was trying to do to this place. But I have a few more animals to tend. I can’t go.”
At the mention of M. David’s name, I stopped gurgling water and listened closer, hoping for some enlightenment on the subject of his recent death.
“What about Adam? Can’t he help?” Angus asked.
Oh, okay, no enlightenment.
“He’s got Samantha and they’re off touring
No, and I didn’t especially want to learn that fact. Thank you, but I had enough trouble getting to sleep as it was.
“So you run, like, a bird-and-wild-animal rescue?” I asked, dodging the dead-bird lecture and shooting for the obvious.
“And some farm animals. I got three goats, all of them lame. Some sicko had them cuffed around a foot, each of them, so tight that the skin rotted. Sheriff ’s detective rescued them after a call, but the infections were so bad they all went lame. I’ve been holding them for the court that’s going to prosecute the owner for abuse. I reckon those goats are mine, though. When the case is over, who’s going to want a small herd of limping goats?”
Assuming this was a rhetorical question, I didn’t jump on it. Besides, if I came home with even one disabled goat, my neighbor Dolly the Hall Monitor of the Universe would have the zoning police on me in half a minute.
Ducking possible goat adoptions, I reached into the next cage, where something that looked like a cartoon version of a blue jay was hopping up and down and shrilling at me—as if this were my fault! When I tried to catch it, it pecked at my hand and jumped back.
“Don’t be shy. That one’s got an attitude,” Lenora said.
I grabbed for the little miscreant and nabbed him. After I lifted him out of his cage so that I could do my Mother-Teresa-with-birds thing, it pecked me again so hard I nearly flung it down.
But Lenora and Angus burst out laughing.
“Here,” Angus said. “Let me take him.”
I passed off the jay to Angus, and turned back to Lenora. “Aren’t jays the bad guys of the bird world?”
“A little bit, but that’s mostly exaggerated. Besides, it’s the bad boys we love the most, isn’t it?” she said, and looked right into Angus’s eyes and smiled. As if on cue, I looked soulfully into Miguel’s eyes, and wondered why he was being so quiet.
When Miguel more or less ignored me, I eased off to the next cage and the next bird. Furtively, I eyed Lenora and Angus, trying to make up my mind whether they were lovers, friends, or what.
Finally we finished feeding the birds, and Lenora said, “I’d show you around, but I’m pretty tired. There’s a lot of small animals in cages and fences outside. I’ve got some gopher tortoises with busted shells in a fence out back. You know, you can fix ’em when they get hit—if the body’s okay, that is—by using duct tape on the cracked shells.”
As I nodded, not sure how useful that tidbit would prove to be in my litigation practice, Angus took her arm. “Let’s go sit down,” he said. “We’ll give Lilly the grand tour another day.”
At Lenora’s invitation, the four of us went into a primitive kitchen, where we took turns washing our hands. The tap water smelled of sulfur, but I splashed my face anyway. Miguel asked for water for me and Lenora pulled a bottle of Zephyr Hills, the local spring water, out of an ancient and rusting refrigerator. I all but snatched it from her.
“Sit,” she said, but she kept standing, so we did too.
“We can’t stay long,” Angus said. “We’ve got that phosphate meeting in Bradenton. Sure you don’t want to come? Help stop Antheus Mines?”
“I hate those bastards so much. Especially that M. David Moody, what he was trying to do to this place. But I have a few more animals to tend. I can’t go.”
At the mention of M. David’s name, I stopped gurgling water and listened closer, hoping for some enlightenment on the subject of his recent death.
“What about Adam? Can’t he help?” Angus asked.
Oh, okay, no enlightenment.
“He’s got Samantha and they’re off touring
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