“I hope that’s not a crack,” Gus said.
David laughed.
“You guys want to join me in the freezing cold or stay in here where it’s nice and toasty and have hot chocolate? You’re not obliged to help.”
“I’ll help,” David said.
“I think I’ll sit in the other room with the fire,” Robert said. “I have a bit of a headache.”
“You want some aspirin or ibuprofen?” Gus asked.
“No, thanks.”
Outside, Zoe led the way to the barn. The snow had all but stopped falling. That silence that snow brings had fallen.
“What kind of dog is Zoe?” David asked.
“She’s a heeler. Some people call them Australian cattle dogs.” I whistled and Zoe looked back. “Zoe, go find a rope, girl.” Zoe trotted off into the barn, then came back with a lead rope in her mouth. “Good girl.” I took the rope and gave her head a rub.
“That’s pretty good,” David said.
“I’d like to say I’m a great trainer, but Zoe’s a genius.”
I piled a deep cart with flakes of hay and asked David to push it down the aisle and put two flakes in each metal feeder. I checked the mule’s gate and caught up to the cart. Once we had the hay tossed I started mucking out.
“I can help with that,” David said.
“That’s great. Grab a silage fork from over there and a bucket. Do the bay’s stall.”
“I thought you were married,” David said.
“I was. My wife died.”
“I’m sorry. I guess I knew that.”
I waved him off. “You were a kid. Anyway, Gus came to live with me about six years ago. He’s a big help.”
“Gus is cool,” David said.
“He is that.” I rubbed at a stiffness in my neck. “Hey, I didn’t mean to bring up any bad feelings earlier. You know, about your parents and all.”
“The bad feelings aren’t too far below the surface, I’m afraid.” David paused to look in at Felony, the big palomino. “That’s a big horse.”
“An enormous baby,” I said. “David, I don’t know your mother very well at all. But I do know, or at least I used to know your father. He can be pretty rigid in his thinking.”
“You got that right.”
“I’m not just saying this to get on your good side, but sometimes it helps to hear that somebody else sees the same things you’re seeing. Your father is a good person, but on occasion he can be a selfish—” I looked for a word.
“Jerk,” David said.
“Not a word I would have used,” I said. I looked up and down the aisle, as if afraid Howard might appear. “I lived with him. He’s my friend, but he’s sometimes clumsy when it comes to other people’s feelings.”
“And he’s not tolerant of other people’s ways,” David said.
I nodded.
David looked at my eyes for a second, then we both laughed. “Well, you did get on my good side,” he said.
“That wasn’t my aim.”
“So, why are you so tolerant?” he asked.
I shrugged. “I like to think I am. I’d like to think that if you were my son I’d behave differently from your father. But I can’t honestly say that. You’re not my son. I don’t have a son.”
“That’s pretty honest,” he said.
“Hey, I’m trying,” I said.
“You know, my dad used to talk about you all the time like you were a god or something.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I said.
“Why?” he asked.
“I don’t have much respect for gods.”
“He used to say you could do anything, fix anything.”
I looked at Felony, reached out and scratched his big nose. “Well, that’s real flattering. It’s not true, but it’s flattering. Hey, it’s getting cold out here. We’d better finish up and get back in that house before those two suck up all the heat.”
Back in the house, Gus told us that Robert had decided to turn in for the night. David said he’d better go check on him.
Gus had scooped up the coyote puppy and had it lying on a nest of towels on the kitchen table. “That David’s a nice man,” he said.
“He is,” I agreed.
“Robert’s having a tough time.” That was like Gus. He was generous of spirit. He wouldn’t settle on thinking Robert was a jerk or an asshole, Gus just thought that this was difficult for him.
“Seems so,” I said. I leaned over and examined the puppy. “So, you think we should just take that leg off.”
“I think so. What do you think?”
“Well, it won’t heal and become a leg she can use, that’s for sure.” The tissue was thin and dark and the remaining piece looked as if it might fall off.
“Want me to go get your kit?”
“No, that’s okay.” I got a sharp knife from the drawer and went to the stove where I held the blade over a flame. I came back and sliced through the tissue. It was the smallest cut, but the largest as well. There would be no putting the leg back on. That was it. The slightest slash and now this animal had three legs instead of four.
“That’s it?” Gus asked.
I looked for bleeding. There was none. “That’s it.”
“I could have done that,” the old man said.
“We can all do a lot things,” I said, “but we won’t.”
“I don’t think she felt it.”
“I doubt she did,” I said. “But who knows. Not that it matters now anyway. Let’s try to get her through this alive.” As I stood there watching Gus stroke the little head on the three-legged body, I realized that if the animal lived, she was a fixture. I couldn’t very well put her into the wild. But she was wild. I’d have to find a way to socialize her and even then I knew I’d have to kennel her when new people came around. I got way ahead of myself in my thinking and tried to shake my head clear.
“What is it?” Gus asked.
“Nothing. You know, I think the little girl is going to make it.”
“What’s going on?” from David in the doorway.
“We just made a tripod,” Gus said. “We cut off her leg. Well, John did, but hell I could have done it.”
“Really?” David came over for a better look. “What will you do with the leg?”
Gus looked at me.
I’d intended to toss it into the garbage can beneath the sink, but now that suddenly seemed unceremonious. “I don’t know,” I said. “What does one do with a dead leg? I mean, it’s not an animal.”
“You weren’t just going to toss it in the trash, were you?” Gus asked.
“What, do you want me to mount it on a plaque?” I looked at David and Gus looking at me. “I suppose I could bury it.”
“That sounds right,” Gus said.
“To me, too,” David said.
“I suppose you expect me to say a few words over it as well. I mean, we’re not having a funeral for a leg.”
“No, of course not,” Gus said.
“Give me that damn thing.” I picked up the leg between my fingers and walked out of the kitchen. I was going to dig a little hole and drop it in.
And that’s what I did, but before I tossed any dirt in on top of it, I said, “Well, little leg, I hope you’re the last death the little girl has to see for a while.” So, the leg had its funeral anyway.
The following morning was still and clear and not as cold as I thought it would be. The sun was rising in a cloudless eastern sky, but there were already clouds bunching up in the northwest. The snow stayed where it had drifted the night before. There was finally not much of it, just enough to quiet things, to muffle morning’s naying for hay and grain. I was done feeding by the time David made his way down to the kitchen. Gus was preparing an uncharacteristically unhealthy breakfast of sausages and eggs.