Amanda slid into the driver’s seat, and reached over to rub Buster’s rounded belly. The four-month-old pup yawned and stretched, and opened one eye. He licked Amanda’s hand and immediately fell fast asleep once again. “Thanks, Mrs. “S”…we won’t be long…it’s an hour there, maybe an hour to look around Foster Farm, and an hour back…so, we should be back before supper time.”
“I’ll make sure I save you both a plate,” Mrs. Stocker grinned and waved.
“Tell Mr. “S” to get some rest!” Amanda yelled back.
_____
The only thing that B.B. Foster and his wife, Jean, loved more than their 200-acre farm was their God and their family. They had been blessed with four handsome sons, good genes and equally good health. They had also been blessed with an abundance of faith that had carried them through some lean and difficult years before they won a substantial landfall in the state lottery ten years ago. B.B. Foster had been a hard-working mechanic before he won $200 million off a single quick-pick lottery ticket. It was the first, and last, time he had ever played the lottery; it was not something his church believed in or supported, but…it had happened, and B.B. had won. He donated half of his winnings to various religious organizations and used the remainder to buy the 200-acre ranch that was now a safe-haven for all animals, but most especially, for rescued pit-bulls.
His four sons…Scott, Rick, Matthew, and the youngest, Tyler…were all dedicated to ensuring that Foster Farm would be around for generations to come. Each of them had their individual roles in keeping B.B.’s dream, which was to provide a permanent safe-haven for neglected and abused animals, alive and functioning. Scott was an accountant and kept the books; Rick was the most outgoing of the four sons and used his people skills to continuously, and discreetly, raise donations to help support Foster Farm; Matthew was a writer and photographer, and it was his job to write the biographies for each animal and select just the right picture to post to prospective adopters; and, Tyler…the youngest at age twenty-five…was the most adventuresome of the four brothers. Tyler had taken it upon himself to incorporate himself into a dangerous liaison with investigators looking into the southeastern states’ dog fighting rings. He was currently working as a crewmember for one of the worst ring leaders in Georgia…Little John Abbott.
B.B. Foster sat in one of the many rocking chairs positioned on the log home’s wrap-around porch. Three pit-bulls lay comfortably at his feet while he watched the mile-long driveway for an approaching vehicle. He was expecting a van from Pet Haven Rescue and he wanted to be onsite when it arrived.
Jean Foster opened the screen door and walked out onto the porch. She wiped her hands on the apron tied around her waist and asked, “Any sign of them yet?” She bent down to scratch behind the ears of the oldest of the three dogs that stood to greet her.
B.B. smiled at the woman he loved more than life itself. “Not yet, but you never know what kind of traffic you’re going to hit coming from Tampa.”
“That is so true…and, all the more reason I love living out here away from all that commotion.” Jean stood up and leaned over to kiss the top of her husband’s head. She had married him when she was eighteen; he had been ten years older than her, but she knew the moment that she first laid eyes on him that she would be spending the rest of her life with B.B. Foster. That was thirty years ago. They had their first son when she was nineteen, and their second son when she was twenty. Jean had a miscarriage when she was twenty-one…a little girl, but popped out their third son when she was twenty-two, and their last son when she was twenty-three. She had wanted to keep trying until she had a girl, but after two more miscarriages…both of them little girls…they had finally given up on that dream.
B.B. covered Jean’s hand with his own, calloused one. “You and me both, Babe…it just doesn’t get any better than this, does it?”
Jean looked out at the 50 acres that blanketed the front part of their 200-acre ranch. She shook her head and smiled. “Nope…we are so very blessed to have our own little piece of heaven right here on earth.” She sighed and looked at her watch. “Have you talked to Tyler today? I thought he would’ve checked in with us by now.”
B.B. blew out his cheeks and closed his eyes. “Ah, Babe…I’m sorry…I forgot to tell you that I talked to him early this morning. He called around three, but I didn’t want to wake you.”
“Is everything all right?” Jean asked and tensed up. “Why was he calling at three in the morning?”
“He’s fine…don’t worry…that son of ours can take care of himself. No…he was just calling to tell me that he wasn’t able to find Spartacus, but that he hasn’t given up. He was going back out today to search some more. He’s got the day off…guess there aren’t any dog fights scheduled for the rest of this weekend.”
“I wouldn’t bet on that,” Jean grunted. “From his description of that Abbott fellow, I’m surprised he would take a day off from making money off those poor dogs. Spartacus? That’s the one that Tyler’s been trying to help for a while now, isn’t it?”
B.B. nodded and squinted his eyes at the puff of rising dust, less than a mile down the driveway. “Yep…the dog has been Abbott’s biggest money-maker for more than a year now, but he lost his last fight and cost the man about ten grand. Abbott wanted to kill him on the spot, but Tyler convinced him to hold off a couple of days to see if he had any fight left in him.” B.B. cocked an eyebrow and grinned. “Well…wouldn’t you know it…lo and behold…that dog went and managed to escape shortly after the fight…”
“Uh-huh…no doubt that dog escaped without any help from our son, I bet…” Jean smiled and looked down the driveway. “Looks like the Pet Haven folks have finally arrived. I’ll get the boys to help us get their dogs settled in.” She went back inside the huge, log-cabin home.
B.B. stood and stretched out his bum leg…the one he almost lost the day he and Tyler crashed on their motorcycle three years ago. B.B. had ended up with a permanent limp, and the scar on Tyler’s right cheek sported as a painful reminder of the accident. It could have been much worse. B.B. knew that Tyler blamed himself for the accident, and that was why his son had never wanted to have the scar removed, but it wasn’t anyone’s fault. Tyler had simply over-corrected the bike when he tried to avoid hitting a stray dog that had run out onto the highway. The stray turned out to be a bait dog that had escaped its intended destiny…only to be killed when it became entangled with the crushing bike. The connection was made; that was the day Tyler committed himself to helping every bait and fighter dog he could to escape their tormented lives.
The van slowed down in the circle driveway and finally came to a complete stop. B.B. didn’t recognize the driver; it certainly wasn’t old-man Stocker, whom he had expected. The driver took off a Tampa Bay Rays baseball cap and shook loose a mass of long, blonde hair; no, it most definitely was not Earl Stocker who grinned up at him now.
“Hi there!” the young woman beamed as she moved quickly to the porch to shake hands with B.B. “You must be Mr. Foster…I’m Amanda Turner from Pet Haven Rescue…you probably gathered that, though, huh? I mean…it’s written all over the van and all. Anyway…Mr. “S” is a little under the weather today, so I volunteered to deliver some precious cargo to you. By the way…this place is totally AWESOME!”
B.B. grinned down at the vivacious young woman who had made her way quickly to the top step of the porch. “That would be me, yes…but you can call me B.B.; everyone around these parts does. Can I offer you something to drink, Miss Turner?”
“Well, you can call me, Amanda, and yes…thanks…I would love something cold to drink after I help get these guys situated.”
“No need for that,” B.B. smiled at her. “I have a crew that’s gotten everything ready for them…and, here they come now, along with the missus…”
Amanda turned to look behind her at two, good-looking men who walked toward them with an attractive, older woman between them. “Hi!” she said. “Name’s Amanda Turner.” She h
eld out her hand to shake hands with Jean and the two oldest Foster sons. “I’ll be glad to help y’all get them settled.”
Scott Foster was quiet and reserved, but his more out-going brother, Rick, was quick to say, “Nice to meet you, Amanda. I’m Rick Foster, this is my brother, Scott, and…” he turned to hug the petite woman between them. “This is the beautiful matriarch of the Foster clan, our mom…Jean.”
Jean ignored Amanda’s hand; instead, she reached out and gave her a warm hug. “Don’t be silly, sweetie. Everything is all ready for these precious souls. Would you like to see where they’ll be staying until we find them their perfect fur-ever homes?”
Amanda’s eyes lit up. “Are you kidding? I would love to see it all! I didn’t want to be rude and ask, but this place is absolutely beautiful…these dogs are so lucky to have ended up here. I thought they had it made at Pet Haven, but…”
B.B. laughed. “Pet Haven is a wonderful place and Earl Stocker is as good as they come. We’re just glad we were able to help out. If Earl’s place is full, that means there are too many strays looking for a safe place to lay their heads. We always have room at Foster Farm; if we don’t…then we’ll make room somehow. We’ve never turned a pet away…never will…”
A small bark from the front passenger seat got everyone’s attention.
“And who might this ferocious one be?” Jean laughed as she leaned into the open van window to receive a dozen puppy kisses from Buster. “Oh, please tell, me he’s going to stay with us!” she laughed again and rubbed Buster’s soft head.
“Not a chance!” Amanda laughed back. “That one is mine. I adopted him a few weeks ago. His name is Buster. He’s gone from being tossed from a moving car to being the most important man in my life.”
“Is that so?” B.B. grinned. “So, young lady…I take it you’re not married…”
“Here we go…” Rick laughed and Scott grinned, too. “Watch out, Amanda…our Mom and Dad are sorely determined to marry off the last of the Foster brothers before the year is out.”
Amanda spent the next two hours touring the expansive Foster Farm and petting every rescued animal there; she lost count after a hundred…and that was just the dogs! “Hmmm…” she pondered, “Amanda Foster does has a nice ring to it…I wonder what the last of the Foster brothers is like...”
4. Heaven - Sunday Visit Home
Martin was the lead mentor for recently deceased humans; it was his primary job to ensure those humans successfully transitioned into their next phase within their heavenly realm. The first transition usually went off without a hitch, with the deceased accepting the fact that they had left their human body, and, accepting their new, heavenly bodies. Of course, there was always the rare occurrence when one of the humans defiantly refused to accept that their lives had changed forever.
“Martin! Hey there, you old geezer! How’s it hanging?”
Martin closed his eyes and shook his head when he heard the loud, boisterous voice coming closer from behind him. “Awwww, yes…it is Sunday, and…she’s back…” he sighed and whispered. His right hand reached up to rub the left shoulder that took the brunt of the anticipated, sharp punch.
“I heard that, Martin! Yep…Max and I are Home for our Sunday visit. Damn, it feels good to be here again!”
“B-E-R-T-I-E!!”
There was no mistaking God’s reprimanding voice, although, Bertie would have sworn she detected a slight twinge of humor in it, also. She knew that voice well. Heaven only knew that she had been reprimanded more than any angel there! “Oops…my bad…sorry, Lord…won’t happen again…” she grinned and winked back at Max.
Martin spun around and looked over Bertie’s head toward Max. Max grinned and shrugged his shoulders. “If I was a betting man, I’d have to get in on that one...” he said as he reached over Bertie to hug his friend, Martin. “How have you been this past week, my friend?”
Martin continued to rub his left shoulder but welcomed Max’s hug. “It’s been a busy week, Max, but all is well…at least it was…please try to behave yourself while you’re here, won’t you, Bertie?”
Bertie crossed her heart and laughed out loud. “I’ll do my best, Martin…I promise.”
Martin waved his hand and the black words on the huge white screen behind him disappeared. “I was just getting ready to take a break and check on the newly-transitioned ones…would the two of you like to come along?”
“Sure thing!” Bertie grinned. “I take it you don’t have any stragglers this week, huh?”
“No, Bertie…” Martin puckered his thick, black lips. “There have only been a few of those in the hundred plus years since you died…and trust me, none of them have resisted their transition phase as much as you did.”
Bertie wrinkled her nose and laughed. “That’s because I didn’t know where the hell I was at; I’d never seen so much white in all my life…at least until you entered the picture, Martin! Still haven’t met any black folks as dark as you! Yeah, I know…it took me a while to accept the fact that I was too young to die…and you know, something else has always rubbed me the wrong way, but I’m not going to make a big deal out of it…”
“Please, do tell…” Martin replied as he hooked an arm through Max’s and began walking forward to where the blinding whiteness began a gradual fade to blinding goldness.
Bertie tagged along behind the two black men. “Well, as you know, I was only in my twenties when the driver of that fancy new automobile hit me while I was walking to my friend, Fernie’s house. But then…I get here, get my new wardrobe, look into the water at those beautiful falls, and what do I see? Nooooo….not the twenty-six year old I was when I kicked the bucket, but instead, I see this!” Bertie spun around and put her hands on hips that were more ample than the day she died. “This heavenly body I got has to be at least forty-something! Tell me again why I ended up older in Heaven than I was when I died on earth?”
Martin stopped in his tracks and turned to face Bertie. “If you’re not going to make a big deal of it, Bertie, then why does it matter?”
Bertie held her hands up in mock defense. “Just curious, that’s all…I mean, I see all ages here in Heaven, from six years to about sixty…just wondering who decided I needed to be forty-something for all of eternity. I didn’t have all this extra padding on me when I died either, you know.”
There was laughter evident in Max’s voice when he looked at Martin and shrugged again. “It’s your job, my friend. I have to listen to her six days out of the week. Surely you can handle her questions and curiosity the one day that we return Home to visit?”
Martin rubbed at his shoulder again; it wasn’t really sore because there was no pain in Heaven, but he thought that if he performed the gesture often enough, it just might reduce the chance of Bertie punching him again. “Very well…” he moved aside to allow Bertie to walk between him and Max. “As you know, Bertie, your heavenly body will usually be the point in your life where you felt your best, your healthiest. In your case, your best was yet to come, therefore…you are in the body we see before us now.”
“But what about those poor souls who are born into imperfect bodies? The ones who are born deformed, either mentally or physically…what about them?” Bertie queried.
“There is no pain, no sorrow, no mental or physical handicaps in Heaven, Bertie,” Martin continued. “The pain they suffered on earth was not in vain because our God has a purpose for each and every one of us. Some of us enjoyed life on earth in healthy bodies and minds, while others struggled daily for every word, for every breath, for every movement. It is not for us to know or understand WHY, but it is important that we BELIEVE that their condition did serve a useful purpose to someone else on earth. Those imperfect individuals receive a very special place in Heaven…a position in which their bodies and minds are whole and completely healthy, and they are all usually transitioned into an age group varying from the twenties to the thirties, since that is determined to be the peak years in our human lives.
”
Max nodded and looked at his friend. “Beautifully said, Martin…I couldn’t have explained it better myself.”
“Easy for you to say,” Bertie grunted. “You ended up in one hunk of a body while I ended up looking like…who was that woman Amanda’s father said I looked like…oh, yeah…that actress, Shirley Booth. Not that she was a bad-looking woman, mind you…just sort of matronly if you know what I mean.”
Max laughed and hugged Bertie against his side. “I’m not sure if the world could handle you in any other form than you are currently in, Bertie.”
“Agreed!” Martin chimed in. “Look, my friends…we have arrived at the first of the transitioning stations.”
The blinding whiteness had gradually evolved into a splendid gold that illuminated all around them. Several hundred souls stood around in groups, talking to one another, and staring in awe at the calm serenity that surrounded them.
“I remember this part,” Bertie grinned as the trio walked among the newly transitioned souls. “It’s like you finally know that you’ve died and gone to Heaven, and that you’re really glad to be here because you weren’t entirely sure that this was where you were going to end up!”
“You’re just speaking from personal experience, Bertie,” Martin puffed. “Trust me, not everyone is as surprised to be here as you were!”
Max laughed and shook his head. He was about to say something when he heard someone call out his name.
“Mr. Max? Bertie? Is that really y’all?”
The trio turned toward the thin, young black man running effortlessly toward them.
Bertie recognized Andrew Brown before Max and Martin did, and she broke away from their group and rushed into the strong arms of a thirty-something Andrew. “Oh…my…God…it is so good to see you again, Andrew!”
“Mighty good to see you again, Miss Bertie…yessirree…mighty nice, indeed!” Andrew grinned as he scooped Bertie up into a tight bear hug. “Seems like only yesterday that I was sittin’ in the café eating Mr. Max’s buttermilk cake…I do miss that cake, Mr. Max!”
Four-Footed Angels Page 3
