Books : Meanwhile Back at the Ranch : Excerpts

Chapter Two

No one in the history of the Western world has ever told Cousin Nancy that he was too busy to talk to her and lived not to talk to her. She is a very dedicated, ruthlessly persistent person who is not really my cousin, does really live in Utopia, and always gets what she wants. What she wanted at the moment, apparently, was to talk to me.

"I hope I haven't called at a bad time," she said.

"What would make you think that?" I said. I puffed patiently on the cigar, leaned further back in my chair, and waited for a wave of words to make a path for one Red Sea Pedestrian to walk toward freedom.

"I can call you at another time," she said, with a tone of disappointment bordering on brokenheartedness in her voice.

"No. Go on, Nancy," I said, starting to feel badly about my brusque behavior. "Is everything all right in Utopia?"

"That's what I was calling about," she said, like a child who'd been suddenly vindicated. "Some things are going on around here that're really upsetting me."

Some things were going on around here, I thought, that were really upsetting me. One of them was listening to Nancy not getting to the point while the three black helicopters that were Moe, Larry, and Curly were whirring around my head. But Nancy already had me in her tenacious grip, and to cradle the blower now would be unthinkable. Besides, she had a heart of gold. She wasn't my cousin, but she was my spiritual sister. And Utopia, if you didn't already know, was Utopia, Texas. Several years back, in what seemed like another lifetime, Nancy Parker and I had founded the Utopia Animal Rescue Ranch. Nancy was now the director of the ranch and her husband, Tony Simons, was the ranch manager. My role has been occasionally described as "Gandhi-like figure."

"Tell me what's upsetting you," I said.

"Animals seem to be disappearing in this area," she said.

I had a fond, lingering image of Cousin Nancy as a Robin Hood in overalls, along with my sister Marcie and several friends, the first time they swept into the pound in Kerrville liberating seven of the most soulful-looking dogs I'd ever seen in my life. They brought "the Magnificent Seven," as Nancy called them, to Dr. William Hoegemeyer's Animal Clinic for shots and neutering before taking them to the Rescue Ranch. Then Nancy and Marcie, feeling remorseful about leaving the rest of the dogs back at the pound, made a return trip and rescued the seventeen remaining animals literally from death's door. That was probably the day the Rescue Ranch truly came into being. It now was the residence of over seventy dogs, hundreds already having been adopted into caring homes.

"Did you hear me?" Nancy asked. "Animals are disappearing!"

"What kind of animals?"

"Two of our neighbor's goats."

"Maybe they were taken by local Hispanic craftsmen."

"Three dogs have disappeared in town."

"Has a Vietnamese family moved in lately?"

"Oh, I know it's supposed to be happening in lots of places, but it's never happened around here before. Have you ever listened late at night on the radio to Art Bell?"

"The crazy guy who lives in a trailer?"

"There's people who say you're a crazy guy who lives in a trailer."

"Only in the summertime. And I've got nothing against people who live in trailers. Jim Rockford lived in a trailer. The king of the gypsies lived in a trailer. Hold the weddin'! I remember hearing Art Bell's show a few times. He's always yapping about UFOs and satanic cults -- "

"That's him. People here follow him religiously."

"Well, maybe the animals got bored listening to Art Bell too much and they wandered away -- "

"This is a small town, Kinky, and everybody knows everybody. Something is going on, I'm telling you -- "

"Nancy, we can't save every animal on the planet. All we can do is try to open the gates of heaven a little bit wider -- "

"I know. You tell me that every time I get upset."

"That's because those gates are hard to open."

"We do have some good news," Nancy said, in that maddening way some women have of turning their emotions on a dime. "Domino got adopted!"

I remembered Domino well. He was a beautiful black and white spaniel who'd been brought in one night by a drunken asshole from San Marcos who told Nancy he was going to shoot him if we didn't take him. The man said the dog's name was Cujo and that he hated all men. Nancy named him Domino and soon discovered that the dog loved everybody -- man, woman, child, dog, and cat. The only person on the planet that Domino didn't like, apparently for very good reason, was the drunken asshole from San Marcos.

"Hurray for Domino!" I said.

"There's also a woman from Austin named Nancy Niland who's pledged the money to dig a well for us here at the Rescue Ranch."

"That'll cost a lot. Why is she doing it?"

"Maybe she wants to open the gates of heaven a little bit wider," said Nancy.

The Rescue Ranch, I reflected, survived on the kindness of strangers. That, and the love and hard work of Nancy and Tony.

"That's great," I said. "Look, Nancy, I've really got to bug out for the dugout now. I've got three big cases -- "

"One more thing," said Nancy. "I've got a good hunting story for you. Happened nearby in Vanderpool just last week."

"Really?" I said enthusiastically. "A hunting accident?"

"You can decide for yourself. Three hunters went deer hunting and they separated and in the evening only two came back."

"I like this story already."

"They searched that night and the next day and couldn't find the guy. Big guy in his forties. Took three guns with him. They finally found him right next to this big buck he'd killed. Apparently, he'd got so excited he had a heart attack and died and they found him in a state of rigor mortis in the sitting position."

"I love this story."

"You haven't heard the best part. Tony and I were sitting in the Lost Maples Cafe here in Utopia last week when they brought the guy right into the place, said they were looking for the justice of the peace. We're sitting there eating chicken fried steaks and they carry him right in the door dead as a doornail all dressed up in camouflage and still in the sitting position!"

"You're making this up."

"I swear to God. Talk about losin' your appetite!"

Cousin Nancy insisted upon putting Tony on the line to verify the story. After they'd hung up I felt better than I'd felt in a long time. There's nothing like a hunting accident to brighten up an otherwise gray afternoon.

"You see," I said to the cat. "God punished the hunter for killing the buck."

The cat, of course, said nothing. This was not terribly surprising either because the cat was sound asleep. She was dreaming, very possibly, of stalking the elusive wildebeest, perhaps on some great verdant plain in darkest Africa. Like most cats and most people she failed to see the humor, the irony, and the justice in hunting accidents.