Read Online Fowl Weather by Bob Tarte - Free Book Online

probably raccoons,” Linda said as we stared at the hollowed-out burrow. One wasp wandered down to the bottom, then returned to the top to confer with another family member, presumably about their hive-owner’s insurance. “The thick coat protects them from getting stung, though they might get a few stings on their noses. But she said raccoons would have eaten the yellow jackets.”
    â€œWhat did you call her when you talked to her?”
    Linda paused a beat. “Mrs. Martoni. What else would I call her? She said it could have been a skunk, but raccoons were more likely to have dragged the whole thing off.”
    Raccoons made sense to me. They had eaten three of our ducks in the past, which proved their carnivorous tendency. And any animal that didn’t mind dining on garbage would probably consider wasps a delicacy. “Did you phone the pest-control guy and tell him not to come? Tell him that the yellow jackets drowned in dew overnight.”
    â€œHe wasn’t there, but I left a message. And Shelley will be here any minute to see about taking Moonbeam.”
    â€œSpeaking of pests.”
    Our great white cat wasn’t overjoyed to meet her prospective owner. As soon as the young woman breezed in towing her towheaded three-year-old daughter, Moobie made tracks for the bedroom.
    â€œOh, what a pretty cat,” said Shelley as Moobie’s tail disappeared through the doorway. “I’ve always dreamed of having a white cat.” The heavyset Shelley had a baby face that made her the little girl’s twin. But Emily bore a serious expression beyond her years, whileShelley’s smile was cherubic. Mom seemed like a good match for Moobie.
    â€œShe’s got one green eye and one blue eye,” I pointed out.
    â€œKitty!” cried Emily.
    Our house wasn’t exactly child-friendly. That realization hit me like a hornet sting as the girl scampered into the dining room, where Stanley Sue and Dusty waited with open beaks for small, chubby fingers to poke through their cage bars. But Emily put the African grey parrots on the defensive. Stanley Sue jumped off her perch with a worried flutter of wings, sending Dusty and all the caged birds flailing in a similar fashion, except imperturbable Howard, who cocked his head for a better view of the action. The breeze from the combined feather power blew sheets of newspaper that Linda had cut to fit various cage trays from the top of the refrigerator. Fortunately, Emily headed directly for the rabbits rather than the hookbills. She tried reaching the snoozing Bertie through the wire grid, but her hand wouldn’t fit. When I brought out the bunny for her to pet, she whimpered and hid behind her mother’s legs.
    â€œWhat a sweet little girl,” said Linda. “Do you like animals, honey?” Emily tightened her arms around Shelley’s denim-clad thigh.
    â€œMost of the time,” said Shelley. “Well, we don’t really know. She can identify ‘cat,’ ‘dog,’ ‘cow,’ and ‘bear’ in her favorite picture book.”
    â€œKitty,” complained Emily with a scowl when Agnes made a rare appearance in the bird room, requesting an immediate exit outdoors. Dusty gave me the evil eye as the aluminum door slammed shut, as if to say, “Is there no limit to what I’m expected to put up with in this house?”
    â€œLet’s go look at Moobie.”
    Linda’s suggestion took root immediately with Emily, who had determined from their fleeting encounter that Moobie was utterly innocuous, even compared to a grapefruit-size bunny. As the girl ran back into the living room I remembered the glass figurines on the coffee table, a bowl of candy, and other temptations. But she bypassed these and tore upstairs to a minefield of CDs, books, outdated computer peripherals, a folk harp, and other detritus strewn everywhere that was easily stepped on and more easily tripped over. I