by Patricia Fry
“Of the ranchers or the wolves?” Savannah asked.
In a serious tone, he said, “Let’s hope there isn’t an ‘us and them’ attitude here today. The point is to live in harmony with the wildlife in the area.”
“Including the scary wolves?” Savannah asked.
He gave her a sideways glance, then said, “Come on, family, let’s see if we can find seats in there.”
As the couple made their way into the large auditorium, Lily in Michael’s arms, they saw a hand wave. “It’s Bud and Brianna,” Savannah said. “Look, there are two chairs next to them. Come on.”
“Hi, Sis,” Savannah said, embracing Brianna. She then gave Bud a quick hug around the neck.
“Are you here to learn how to protect your livestock, Cowboy Bud?” Michael asked as Brianna reached out for Lily.
“Something like that,” he said. “My folks are concerned about the animals on our spread and I think it’s a good idea to learn what our options are.”
Bud looked at Michael, cocking his head. “You don’t have livestock—well, except for the horse.”
“Right,” Michael said. “But as you know, we have a lot of clients with livestock. I’ve patched up a few just this week—you went out on a call or two, didn’t you?”
Bud nodded. “Yeah, one was a gunshot wound.”
“What?” Savannah and Michael said in unison.
“Yeah, the rancher went after something he saw in the dark and ended up shooting his own steer. It was superficial, but hey, we can’t have that sort of nonsense going on.”
Before Michael could comment, a middle-aged woman with short-cropped hair took the stage. As the woman urged everyone to find a seat, Savannah glanced around the room. She made eye contact with her aunt and her husband and waved. She poked Michael, saying, “There are the Gilberts and the Petersons.”
Michael nodded at a couple of people he knew.
Soon all the seats were taken and several people stood along the walls. The audience seemed to be listening carefully to the speakers and watching the film intently—each with his or her thoughts on what was being presented. But not everyone was assimilating the information in the same way. Before the last speaker could be introduced, a man shouted out from the back of the room, “Yeah, but you can’t guarantee me the wolves will leave my sheep be. My only guarantee is a bullet!”
Another man bellowed, “I agree. I have the right as a property owner to protect my livestock from any and all predators, whether you slap a protected label on ‘em or not!”
Savannah leaned toward Michael. “Hey, isn’t that Jack Parsons from the place just north of us?”
He nodded, saying under his breath, “Showing his ignorance.”
The commentator attempted to quiet the rumble in the crowd when a burly man sitting near the front hollered, “That’s right! And you ain’t showed me nothin’ here that’ll change my mind, neither! If them wolves or any other animal threatens my livelihood, I’ll handle it like I always have—with a bullet!”
At that, several people rose and headed for the door, while the majority remained in their seats, stunned at the outbursts.
Once the rabble-rousers had left and the room became quiet again, the speaker addressed the group. “Thank you for remaining seated. We have one additional presenter we’d like to welcome. It’s unfortunate that we scheduled him last. With the others gone, I believe he’ll be speaking to the choir,” she said, chuckling a little. “Please welcome John Berry. He’d like to share with you a few success stories from our files, showing what can happen when we use more eco-friendly tactics to protect our livestock from wild predators.”
The meeting ended at three forty-five and everyone slowly moved out through the double doors and toward their cars.
“What did you think?” Savannah asked Bud. “Will your parents be willing to use some of the tactics they talked about here today?”
“I’m pretty sure they will. In fact, we already do, but that was a good refresher course. What they shared today will help Dr. Mike and me better inform our clients, too.” He looked despondent. “But how are we going to educate those with closed minds?”
“Good question,” Michael said, shaking his head. “I mean, we’re talking about what—one family of wolves in the whole state? What are the chances they’d even come anywhere near civilization? What we’ve got going on here is a near panic situation based on insane rumors.”
“Auntie, Auntie,” Lily chirped.
“Hi, sweet pea,” Margaret said, walking up and reaching for Lily, who was in Michael’s arms.
“What are you doing here?” Savannah asked.
“I could ask you the same thing,” Margaret responded.
“We have livestock,” Savannah said rather smugly.
“Pshaw, Vannie—one horse. You call that livestock?”
“Yes. But you only have cats…in pens.”
Max interjected, “Yeah, but living out like we do, we felt it was wise to become educated in ways to help with the ecosystem. We should all take responsibility.”
“Amen,” Michael said.
Bud nodded.
“Those baby wolves they showed in the film were so cute,” Brianna said.
“And the grown wolves are so dog-like,” Savannah added.
“Which is why domestic dogs could be in danger,” Bud said.
Brianna and Savannah looked at him inquisitively. “They are?”
“Yeah—dogs, steers, sheep—anything that moves. Just the mention of wolves makes some ranchers paranoid,” he explained, “…and trigger-happy.”
“Hey, what are you guys doing this afternoon?” Savannah asked.
Bud and Brianna looked at each other and shrugged.
Margaret said, “Nothing. The volunteers are feeding and administering meds.” She glanced at Max. “We’re free.”
“I made a pot of stew this morning. How about you guys come over and we’ll share it. I picked lettuce from the greenhouse. I can make a salad.”
“Sounds fun,” Brianna said.
Bud nodded and so did Max.
“Yes,” Margaret said, smiling. “I’d love some playtime with my favorite grandniece.”
****
Later that evening, after dinner, the three couples sat around the kitchen table sipping coffee and playing a rowdy game of Monopoly, when Rags rushed into the room, leaped up on the windowsill kitty perch, and began turning in place and meowing.
“What’s wrong with him?” Margaret asked.
“Wow, I don’t know,” Savannah said. “He’s upset about something, isn’t he?”
“He seems excited about something out there,” Brianna observed.
Michael looked at her, then at the cat. “Well, when he’s upset or excited about something, there’s usually a reason.”
Grinning, Savannah quipped, “Finally, he believes me.”
Michael smirked playfully at his wife, then headed for the kitchen door and flipped on the outside light. When he opened the door, they heard Savannah’s mare whinny.
“Oh no, Peaches seems worried about something, too.” Savannah said, rushing to the door. “What is it, Michael?” she asked in a strained voice.
Returning to grab a flashlight off the counter, he said, “I don’t know. You stay here.”
What happened next seemed surreal. A shot rang out in the night, followed by a yelp. Then someone shouted, “Got ‘im!” Before Savannah could react, Rags scooted out through the open door like a flash.
“Rags!” she screeched.
“Hey,” Michael called out, shining the flashlight in the direction of the male voice he’d heard. “Who’s out there?”
Just then, another shot was fired.
“Good lord,” Michael said, under his breath. He shouted, “Stop! Stop shooting!”
By then, Max and Bud had joined Michael and Savannah at the door and the three men stepped out onto the porch. “Who’s shooting?” Bud asked quietly
.
“Hell if I know. Some idiot,” Michael said through clenched teeth.
“Peaches,” Savannah whispered. “Is she…?”
Michael shined the light in the mare’s direction. When he saw the glow of the horse’s eyes reflecting back, he said, “She looks okay.” He called again, “Who’s out there?”
That’s when they heard something else—a whimper.
“Lexie!” Michael shouted. “Savannah, where’s Lexie?”
She gasped. “Oh no! I put her in the dog run a while ago. She’s still out there.”
“You stay put,” Michael commanded. He then called, “Lexie!” as he headed toward the run behind the house. After several moments, he shouted back to Savannah, “She’s okay. Here she comes.”
“Come on, girl,” Savannah coaxed, watching as the afghan-mix dog dashed up the porch steps and into the house. She tried to cower behind Savannah, who had dropped to her knees and began petting the little dog, checking her for injuries.
“Who’s out there?” Michael called again.
“Jack Parsons,” came the answer. “I just killed me a wolf.”
“Jack,” Michael said, angrily walking toward him. “What are you doing shooting toward our house, for cripe’s sake? You could have hit one of us or our horse or our dog!”
“It was a wolf—one of those damn wolves just ran through my ranch in this direction. I’ve been stalking him—followed him right over here.”
Michael turned when he heard the whimpering sound again. At the same time, Jack tightened his grip on the rifle.
“It’s a dog in trouble,” Bud said. “Let me see that flashlight, Michael.” Taking it, he quickly headed in the direction of the sound.
“Don’t be a fool,” their neighbor said. “It’s a damn wolf. You don’t want to tangle with that thing.”
Michael grimaced, then joined Bud in the search. “I don’t hear it anymore.” Before he could figure out which way to move, he became aware of another presence. “Rags, what are you doing out here?” Michael asked. He reached down and picked up the cat when he noticed something. “Blood,” he said. “Rags has blood on one of his paws.” After quickly checking the cat over, he reported, “He seems okay. I think he wants us to follow him.” He pointed. “He’s concerned about something in that direction.”
At the same time, the mare let out a whinny.
Bud peered at Michael and shook his head. “Are you saying?”
Michael nodded. “Yeah, I think he’s found our wounded animal.” He placed the cat on the ground. “Show us, Rags.” Within a few moments, Michael shouted so Jack Parsons could hear him, “Good lord, man, you’ve shot a poodle!”
“What?” Mr. Parsons said. He began backing up. “No, I shot a wolf. You’re mistaken, there, Michael. That weren’t no poodle.”
“Come take a look, Jack,” Michael said sternly. “It’s a lamb-clipped gray standard poodle, just like the one your wife owns.” Michael motioned to Bud. “We’d better get her to the clinic.”
In the meantime, Jack walked up to the dog and slumped. “Dear God, it’s Polly. I could have swore it was a wolf.” He stiffened, glanced around the yard, and lifted his rifle menacingly. “It was a wolf. I know it was. It could still be around here somewheres.”
“You’ll do no more shooting tonight,” Max said, walking up to the armed man and taking the rifle from him. He emptied the gun and handed it back to him. “If either the Iveys or I ever catch you doing that again, we’ll have you arrested. Now help these men load your dog into the truck. Then you’d better go home and explain to your wife what you’ve done.”
“But the wolf…” he started.
“There is no wolf, Jack,” Michael said, after he and Bud had made Polly comfortable in Bud’s SUV. “You were shooting at your dog. She often comes over here to visit Lexie about this time of evening.”
By then, Savannah had located another flashlight. “What are you doing?” Michael asked, when he saw her heading out into the darkness.
“Checking on my mare. I want to make sure she wasn’t hit.”
“I didn’t shoot no horse, ma’am,” Jack said. “I’d never shoot a horse.”
She turned and glared at the man. “But you probably never thought you’d shoot your own dog, either, did you?”
“Yeah,” Margaret said, “You don’t know what you’re shooting in the dark. What’s the matter with you, anyway, Jack?”
“It’s those damn wolves. I’m afraid they’ll kill what cows I have left. They’re my livelihood, you know.”
“Have you seen a wolf around here, Jack?” Max asked. “I mean clearly, without any doubt, an actual wolf?”
After hesitating and looking down at his feet, he said, “No, can’t say as I have.” He looked up. “But I’ve heard…”
“You’ve heard rumors with no truth to them. That’s all. If you’d stayed at the rally today and listened carefully, you would have learned…”
“I don’t need no educatin’. I know about wolves—lived in Wyoming. They introduced the wolves back into the wilds there. There was all sorts of stories of wolves attacking cattle.”
“Stories?” Margaret said. “Rumors? Jack, grow up. Stop listening to rumors; start listening to fact. Open your mind and get informed.”
Michael shook his head as he walked past the others into the house to retrieve his heavy jacket and returned carrying Bud’s, as well. Tossing it to him, he said, “Well, Dr. Bud, let’s get this dog some help, shall we?” He called out to Jack, “We’ll meet you at the clinic.”
****
“You had a late night,” Savannah said when Michael joined her in the kitchen the following morning.
He yawned. “Sure did.”
“How is she?”
“It was touch and go there for a while, but I think she’ll be okay.” He chuckled. “I’m not too sure about Jack, though.”
“What do you mean?”
“When Frances gets her hands on him, who knows what’ll happen. Hopefully, she’ll pistol-whip some sense into him, the paranoid bas…”
“Michael,” Savannah said, motioning toward Lily, “little ears.” She then asked, “How long will Polly be at the clinic?”
“She can probably go home today, why?”
“I want to take Rags to see her, but I guess we can wait until she’s home. I should pay Frances Parsons a visit, anyway.”
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why do you want Rags to visit Polly?” When she didn’t respond, he squinted his eyes and asked, “Why are you looking at me as if I’m from outer space?”
“Well, sometimes I think you are.”
“Huh?”
“Michael,” she said, hands on hips, “Rags is worried about her. He found her last night, remember? You know how sensitive he is. He won’t rest until he knows Polly’s okay.”
Michael smirked, then glanced around the room. “Oh Rags, there you are. Listen, Polly’s okay. You can relax now.”
She laughed. “Don’t be silly. That won’t cut it. He has to see for himself.”
“Savannah, Savannah,” Michael said, shaking his head.
She let out a deep sigh. “Didn’t you hear him last night?”
“When? I was out half the night, remember?”
“Oh yes, I guess you were. Well, he paced, he ran across the bed I don’t know how many times, he jumped up on the dresser twice that I know of and knocked things down. I heard him tearing through the house. He was a wreck and I don’t think he’ll calm down until he sees for himself that Polly’s okay. So please let me know when she goes home and I’ll call Frances to see if we can pay Polly a visit.”
He chuckled to himself. “Wife of mine, if I’d known what I was getting into when I allowed you to bring your dowry into this marriage, I’d…”
“Dowry?” she said laughing. “What dowry?”
“Your cat.”
“You’d w
hat?” she asked, wrapping her arms around his neck and looking him in the eyes. She pulled back. “Before you answer that, remember all the good things he’s done—he saved that poor sick Himalayan that was catnapped, he’s found clues to several crimes, oh…and he saved that woman from the burning mansion, told you and Max where Auntie and I were when that awful man…”
What could Michael do but grin and shake his head in defeat.
****
Late that afternoon, when Michael returned home after doing Sunday rounds at the clinic, Savannah asked, “So did you release Polly?”
He nodded as he removed his shoes and slipped on his flip-flops—a daily ritual of his, no matter the season. “Frances wanted her home. Since she’s a retired nurse, I’m sure she can handle the pup’s follow-up care as well as we could at the clinic.”
“Okay, I’m taking Rags over for a short visit right now,” she said as she dressed the cat in his harness. She took the leash in one hand, grabbed her car keys and a plate of brownies, and headed for the door.
“You’re driving that short distance?” Michael asked, standing at the doorway with Lily.
“Yes,” she said, frowning. “It’s too cold to walk. See you in a bit.”
“We’re going to see Polly, Rags,” Savannah said as they pulled out of the driveway. “Polly’s going to be okay and I want you to see her so you’ll sleep tonight.” She glanced at the cat as he stood on the passenger seat, his paws on the dash, peering out through the windows.
“Here we are,” she said when they pulled into the Frances Parsons’ driveway. “Come on boy, let’s go see Polly.”
“Hi Savannah…Rags…” Frances said as she opened the front door wide. “Polly’s expecting you.” When she noticed the plate Savannah held, she asked, “What do you have there?”
“Brownies with chocolate chips and walnuts,” Savannah said, smiling.
“Ohhh, wonderful. Thank you,” Frances said taking the plate and placing it on a side table. She pointed toward the hallway. “Polly’s resting comfortably on her futon.”
“She has her own futon?” Savannah asked.
“Sure, doesn’t Lexie?”
