by K C West
A group photo of our team flashed on the screen, and I identified the individual members and their areas of expertise. “Archaeological research is truly interdisciplinary in scope. Today’s dig site often requires experts in the fields of botany, forestry, soil science, hydrology, architectural engineering, and forensic anthropology, to name a few.
“This photo, showing my colleague, Dr. Kimberly Blair, and me, was taken on the site of Dr. Peter Arnold’s discovery on the Greek island of Lesvos.” I advanced the slides to show several views of the labyrinth and its treasure-laden storeroom. Low whistles showed how impressed some of my listeners were with the amount of riches depicted. One woman in particular, seated toward the back, appeared to be extremely interested in the accumulation of artifacts. As she leaned over the empty seat in front of her to get a better view, I felt a funny sensation along my spine. Perhaps we’d met somewhere, on an excavation or at a conference. I’d make a point to speak with her after my talk.
“I don’t want to give you the wrong idea,” I said, letting my gaze sweep across the audience. “Not every expedition meets with such success. Not every project is as exciting Sometimes months of scratching in the dirt yield little in the way of results. Not every search produces such a variety of artifacts. This site is still active and will remain so for years, and once all the finds have been classified and catalogued, Dr. Arnold, or Sandy, as he’s known to his friends, will probably establish a museum at the location. The Curtis Foundation, a philanthropic organization that fosters worldwide archaeological research and discovery, will partner with him to display this remarkable discovery to its fullest.”
My talk and slides moved on to other expeditions in other parts of the world, and then returned to our own state and Chaco Canyon. “Right here in New Mexico, monumental sites exist that have provided scientists and tourists with fascinating glimpses into the lives of past inhabitants. The Ancestral Puebloans, formerly known as the Anasazi, made Pueblo Bonito their home and used these massive structures as living quarters, and performed ceremonies in these great kivas for hundreds of years. We’re provided with a generous helping of mystery and intrigue as we try to uncover their heritage and explain their daily lives. As you can see by these shots, supplied by the Chaco Canyon Historical Park, several sections of this vast ruin are deteriorating. Sand, wind, and rain have attacked the fine masonry. Vandals have destroyed and defaced walls, removed artifacts, and otherwise compromised the integrity of the original sites.
“I am here, today, to spread the message of the Chaco Preservation Society. Your own campus houses a vast collection of Chaco artifacts, so it’s only fitting that you be the first to hear about our plans. The Curtis Foundation will partner with the CPS, and pledges to help save this historic area. Through fund-raising and volunteer restoration efforts, we will aid in reclaiming, repairing, and restoring the canyon, especially some of the outlying areas, those that have received little or no attention. I hope we can count on your support as well. We need help from every sector in whatever ways you can offer it.
“In closing, I’d like to echo some of the great Indian leaders of the region in stressing the need for preserving the soil, trees, mountains, rivers, and valleys of this area. These natural resources were here long before we were born and they must remain for generations to come. Several places are held sacred to the Indians, but those places won’t stay that way without our intervention. Thank you.”
Professor Jamison rose to clasp my hand and nod his approval as the audience applauded. As speeches go, it was a bit stuffy, but I think my subject matter was interesting enough.
When the lights came up in the auditorium, I scanned the seats for a better look at the woman from the back row, but I couldn’t see her anywhere. We moved to the reception area for refreshments and informal questions. Forty minutes later, with contributions, pledges, and a list of possible volunteers, I climbed wearily into the Jeep Wrangler and turned the wheels toward home and Kim.
*
Pup greeted me at the side door. I scratched his neck and ears while he writhed and whimpered in delight. After a quick trip outside to relieve himself, he escorted me to our bedroom, crawled into his large pet bed, yawned and went to sleep.
Kim had left the nightlight on in the bathroom. I peeled off my clothing and took a quick shower. Clad in a comfortable over-sized T-shirt, I padded to my side of the bed and slipped between the sheets. Kim rolled over to snuggle against my back. Her mouth nuzzled my neck, and one hand cupped my breast through the shirt fabric.
“That you, PJ?”
“Who else would be climbing into your bed and letting you take liberties with her at this ungodly hour?”
“I dunno, but you smell good. Love that raspberry soap.” She kissed my neck just below my ear. Her hand wriggled underneath my shirt. “Feel good, too.”
My breath caught. “Now, don’t start anything you aren’t prepared to finish.”
“Point taken,” she said, parking her hand on my stomach. “How did it go?”
“Okay, I guess. Jamison was distressed at not seeing you again. When I left, he asked me to give you his best and called you a living legend. So you should’ve been the one to talk to them. You’re the one with the vast reputation.”
Kim snorted and her fingers stroked my abdomen. “I’ve got a reputation all right, but as for the legend part…”
I slapped lightly at her hand. “I mean in the field of archaeology, silly.”
“Oh, yeah, that too.” Her warm fingers worked their magic along my ribcage. If I were a cat, I’d be purring. “Come on, I bet you did just fine.”
“I tried.”
“Did you get volunteers?”
“Seven.”
“There you go.”
“And two hundred dollars in contributions with almost a thousand in pledges.”
“You’re a regular hustler.”
I turned my body into hers, tucking my head under her chin, wrapping my arm part way around her waist. “They have new pictures in their gallery now. I saw a poster when I was going into the lecture hall. We’ll have to take a look the next time we’re in Albuquerque.”
“Sounds like fun.”
“Remember the petroglyphs we saw when we went to Chaco Canyon last year?”
“Uh-huh. Some were supposed to resemble animals like sheep and you liked the spirals. There were lots of them.”
“Someone from the university’s made a study of the glyphs using a special technique. They looked practically three dimensional.”
“Wow. Is that what the exhibit’s going to be about?”
“That’s what the poster said.”
“We’ll have to see that. Maybe it’ll teach this old gal some new tricks.”
“You’re far from old, Doc, but it’s the wave of the future. We’ll have to catch onto it, or be reduced to making fancy speeches and begging for causes.” A yawn caught me off guard.
“Let’s get some sleep. You can tell me all about the sad state of old-timers in our profession in the morning.”
“It’s true. We’ll soon be relegated to sitting behind our computers making electronic calculations. We’ll create three dimensional graphics instead of sifting through actual dirt and probing the sites with our trusty tools. The good part is that we won’t destroy the sites in order to discover anything.”
“But, you’ll miss the hands-on approach?”
“Sure. Won’t you? You’ve been at it longer than I have.”
“Don’t remind me. Another birthday has come and gone. Now, for the next seven months, I’ll be fourteen years older than you rather than thirteen.”
“Age is just a number. We’re not going to rehash your feelings about being a burden to me, are we?”
“I think I’m too tired right now to worry about my personal future.”
“Good. I am, too.”
“And I’m not worried about my archaeological future right now, either.”
“You aren’t?” I raised
my head to look at her in the faint light of our bedroom.
“Nope.” She laughed. “My trowel is still smaller than yours.”
“Oh, you,” I laughed and squeezed her hard. It had been a competition between us for months, comparing the size of our trowels at the end of each project. Kim’s had always been smaller than mine because she’d been in the field longer. I’d hoped to narrow the gap between us some day. She was right. If we went on fewer and fewer excavations in the future, I’d never catch up, and she’d never let me forget it.
“Sorry, PJ, it’s always been a badge of honor to have the most worn down tools. Maybe now, though, it won’t be such an achievement. Maybe the new breed of archaeologist will use different tools, starting with the mind.”
“If that’s the case, I’m still going to be far behind you.” I kissed her.
“You’re so good for my ego.” She brushed the hair off my forehead. “Sleep now.”
We settled against each other. “I love you, Kimmy.”
“Love you, too. Always.”
Chapter 4
One morning during the second week of December, Kim and I enjoyed a rare, leisurely breakfast together. The weather had turned colder, forcing us to make our daily walks or runs shorter. Pup had joined us on these jaunts, but often roamed the property on missions of his own, delighting in discovering an assortment of buried treasure. Apparently, the previous owner disposed of his worn out vehicles and parts by digging shallow graves for them near the barn and covering them with dirt and debris. With Pup’s help, we’d already uncovered hubcaps, a radiator, and several bumpers. Future plans included excavating all that junk, disposing of it, and planting a garden over the burial mounds.
Basking in the comfort of this free time, I poured myself a second cup of Earl Grey. I had no speaking engagements or trips scheduled until after Christmas, so I extended my usual hasty breakfast with an extra slice of toast, slathered on a thick layer of preserves, and sipped my tea. My brain worked overtime, tallying up the presents I had purchased, and the most important one I hadn’t. Kim’s. What could I get that she’d like, but not berate me for spending too much on?
“Jesus! That’s awful.” Kim had her head buried in the weekly edition of The Santa Fe Reporter.
“What is?”
“There’s an article here about animal abuse. What a scumbag.”
“You’ve been watching America’s Most Wanted again, haven’t you?”
She looked up at me. “What?”
“Your vocabulary. It’s pure John Walsh.”
“I’m afraid the word fits. In a town near Albuquerque, some sorry excuse for a human being painted a cat’s ears red and set the poor thing on fire.”
“Jesus. What a lowlife piece-of-crud. Did it survive?”
She lowered the paper to show me the picture. “Yes. It lost most of its ears, but still seems remarkably friendly around people.”
“That just goes to show you that animals have way more class than humans.” By now I’d snatched the paper away from Kim and was reading the full article. “Says here, it was taken to an animal sanctuary just outside Santa Fe.”
“I’ve heard of the place. They take in abused or injured dogs, cats, and some other animals, care for them, and try to place them in good homes.” She put her hand over mine and our eyes locked.
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
“That Pup needs a feline companion. Maybe a feisty sidekick.” At the mention of his name, our four-legged family member’s ears twitched. He sat up, rested his chin on my knee, and thumped his tail against the hardwood floor.
Kim put her empty mug in the sink and headed for the study.
“I’ll check out their website and get directions.”
“Okay. I’ll take Pup for a quick trip outside to let him do his business. The article says to leave your own pets at home if you visit.” I ran my fingers along his sleek, dark back. “Sorry, sweetie. You have to stay here while we go get you a buddy. Would you like a new friend?” His whine was non-committal, but he perked up as soon as I found his leash.
“I’m afraid we can’t adopt Burnie,” Kim said when Pup and I returned. “He found a home yesterday.”
“Burnie? Oh, I get it. That’s cute, in a morbid sort of way.” A wave of sadness swept over me. “That’s good for him, anyway. I hope he has a very happy new life.”
Kim wrapped her arms around me. “You’re disappointed?”
“Yeah.”
“They have a couple of females, though, who were abandoned in a dumpster a few months ago.”
“Cripes! What’s the world coming to?”
“Sickening, isn’t it?”
I nuzzled her neck, planting several wet kisses against her cheek. “So, you got the directions?”
“Yup. And I called and put a hold on the dumpster duo.”
“Charming name for the poor things.” We rocked back and forth, still holding each other. “Sisters, you say?”
“Litter mates, they think. I saw their pictures on the website. One is black with white markings, and the other is a calico. Spayed already. A sassy looking pair.”
“Great. They’ll fit right in.” I broke away from her to collect my shoulder bag. “Let’s go. I love them already.”
She gathered her coat and the keys to the Rover. “I haven’t really decided what to get you for Christmas. Would you like these two kitties to be our gift to each other?”
“Sounds like a fantastic idea,” I said after a second or two of thought. “I’ll even let you name them.”
“Shoot. Why do I get all the hard jobs?”
We hurried to the barn which housed our vehicles, Jasper’s old truck, and Little Bird’s ancient Pontiac Trans Am.
“Don’t worry,” I said, climbing into the passenger side of the Rover, “I’ll help you. We can have a few names ready by the time we get there and make a final decision once we see them.”
*
It took no time at all for PJ to fall in love with the dumpster duo and we agreed to adopt them, but she wanted to take all the other used and abused animals as well during the two hours we spent at the shelter.
“Darling, we’re away so much,” I said, attempting to tone down her enthusiasm. “It wouldn’t be fair to Jasper and Little Bird if we had too many animals for them to take care of every time we’re gone. Two more is enough.”
“It’s just that I love them all.” She moved from cage to cage, pushing her fingers through the bars and talking in low, soothing tones, eliciting the most robust of purring from the inmates.
When the shelter assistant went into the office to finalize the paper work, I hugged PJ. “You have so much love to share that sometimes it frightens me.”
“No need to be frightened.” She gave me one of her wonderful lopsided grins.
“Maybe not, but I often wonder if I deserve you.”
PJ pressed her index finger to my lips. “Don’t talk like that.”
We met with the shelter manager, a middle-aged woman who appeared to take her duties seriously. “Just a few formalities,” she said, handing us each another form to read over and sign. “Then you can take your new family members home.”
With the paperwork completed, we were ushered into a small lobby area where the assistant was waiting with our new housemates. It was obvious this woman loved her furry charges. I was sure she had tears in her eyes when she handed us two perforated cartons containing the dumpster duo who were indignantly voicing their opinions on separation and confinement.
“We’ll take good care of them,” PJ said, hugging the woman. “You may come visit them whenever you like.” She tore off another check and handed it to the woman. “I didn’t want it to influence the adoption, but I’d like to make a contribution to your organization.”
The woman looked surprised, but recovered. “Thank you so much.” She glanced at the slip of paper. “My goodness. This is for five thousand dollars.”
“I hope it’ll help,”
PJ said.
“Are you kidding? It’s a godsend. You can be sure that one hundred percent of it’ll go the animals. Bless you. Bless you both.” She gave us hugs and helped us load the cat containers in to the Rover.
That’s my PJ, I thought, as we drove home. So much love to share.
*
“I’d better go in and talk to Pup before you introduce Cleo Catra and Jackie Mew-Veeay. I’m sure he’ll be all right with them, but I don’t want anyone hurt.”
“Good thinking,” PJ said, before crooning to our new family members. “Hey, sweet darlings, you’re so adorable.”
Pup greeted me with his usual enthusiasm. Instead of letting him out, I sat in my chair and scratched his ears. “Pup, you know I love you, don’t you? You know that PJ loves you, too. You’re the alpha male in this house. We depend on you to take care of us. No one will ever take your place.” Pup fixed his golden eyes on me, understanding at least the praise in my voice, if not the actual meaning of my words.
“Remember when you first met PJ, and she was terrified because you looked so big and powerful, but you made her love you as much as I loved you. You had two females to look after, and you did it so well.” Pup issued the little growl he reserved for those times when he sensed he’d done something right. “Now we want to introduce you to two more little ladies who’re looking for a good home and someone just like you to take care of them.” I petted his sleek back, but leashed him before calling out, “Okay, bring them in.”
PJ put the pet carriers on the floor about four feet away from him. She didn’t let the kitties out despite their frantic mewing. Pup growled and tugged a little on his tight leash.
“Hey, now,” I said, “remember our little talk. Cleo and Jackie need you to take care of them, too.” Pup lay down, his eyes firmly fixed on the cartons. I nodded to PJ.
She opened one box slowly and took Cleo into her arms. Jackie, the more cautious of the two, shrank back into the confines of her carrier. She eyed Pup with some trepidation. When she exited the carrier, she flattened herself against the floor before creeping toward a puzzled and immobile Pup. I slackened the leash, giving him room to move, but kept a firm grip, ready to pull back if necessary. Pup made no move to approach the now-curious kitty.
