barn and came back with a big bucket of water. I wasn’t sure what he was up to, until he cut an
X
in the bag and poured the water right inside. “This stuff will absorb all that water in no time, and after it does, it breaks down and puffs up. See?”
He was right. The pellets swelled like popcorn, bursting from the
X
he cut in the bag like crazy. “I’ll be damned.”
“Wood pellets make great horse bedding. There’s less dust, and they biodegrade like magic.”
“It looks like cat litter.”
“Literally, it’s horsey litter.”
I dropped a bunch of the soft damp stuff in the middle of the stall and raked over the places that seemed bare. “That about right?”
“Yeah.”
It was softer than I thought it’d be. Fluffier, almost. I could see why it would take less because less of the dry bedding got scooped up with the wet. “Thanks, man. That’s kind of cool. Do the horses like it better?”
“If they do”—he deadpanned—“they haven’t said.”
The man made me laugh. When he didn’t leave, I asked, “Something else you need?”
“No, no.” He glanced around. “Looks like you know your way around a barn. How are you with horses?”
“It’s been a while, but I get along with most animals all right.”
He studied me. Gave a nod. “I asked around about you.”
“That right?” I stopped what I was doing to give him my full attention. “What’d you learn?”
“Nothing about you personally.” He paused. “I don’t think I’d like your dad much. You had a brother?”
“He’s dead.”
“I know.” He met my gaze with soft brown eyes. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
I nodded. “Thanks.”
“I lost my parents when I was young.”
“That’s too bad.” I left that second stall and started in on the third.
He followed, leaning against the stall wall. “They weren’t good parents, but for a while I felt lost without them. I realized they’d never have a chance to
be
good parents, and somehow that seemed sadder even than if they’d been awesome to begin with.”
“I know the feeling.” I mourned the brother I wished I had—the one I
could
have had if it weren’t for my dad—not the man he became.
“Loss can be confusing sometimes, can’t it?” he asked shrewdly.
“Yes, it can.” The words hung there in the air between us.
He took a deep breath and let it out again. “How about I go dump this and bring it back while you get another bag of pellets ready.” He’d started to take the wheelbarrow by the handles when I stopped him.
“I’ll get it, you still need to show me where the manure goes.”
“All right.” He stepped aside. “The system we use for compost is out back.”
“Compost. Isn’t that what people do with scraps of food and coffee grounds?”
“It’s a little more complicated than that. I’ll show you.” He led me out of the barn and around behind it, where they’d gotten some sort of wooden setup going. Somehow I always pictured those organic gardening types throwing their banana peels and orange peels into a bin that turned them into fuel, like in
Back to the Future
. Horses make a lot of waste. I found it hard to imagine “composting” on that scale.
“It’s taken a while to get Speed on board with composting, but he agreed to a trial.”
“What are you going to use the compost for?”
“At some point in the future, I’d like the ranch to be self-sufficient. That means growing food as well as feed crops. Right now, I’m expanding our kitchen garden in a big way, and I’ll sell the rest of the compost to local gardeners in town.”
“Things have changed a lot around here since I’ve been gone.” I enumerated them. “Gay cowboys, a garden, a composting system, a petting zoo.”
“A what?”
“The sheep and alpacas,” I clarified. “They’re like pets.”
“We sell the fibers. It’s almost shearing time now. I assume you’ve sheared sheep before?”
“Can’t say I have.” I must have looked as
X
in the bag and poured the water right inside. “This stuff will absorb all that water in no time, and after it does, it breaks down and puffs up. See?”
He was right. The pellets swelled like popcorn, bursting from the
X
he cut in the bag like crazy. “I’ll be damned.”
“Wood pellets make great horse bedding. There’s less dust, and they biodegrade like magic.”
“It looks like cat litter.”
“Literally, it’s horsey litter.”
I dropped a bunch of the soft damp stuff in the middle of the stall and raked over the places that seemed bare. “That about right?”
“Yeah.”
It was softer than I thought it’d be. Fluffier, almost. I could see why it would take less because less of the dry bedding got scooped up with the wet. “Thanks, man. That’s kind of cool. Do the horses like it better?”
“If they do”—he deadpanned—“they haven’t said.”
The man made me laugh. When he didn’t leave, I asked, “Something else you need?”
“No, no.” He glanced around. “Looks like you know your way around a barn. How are you with horses?”
“It’s been a while, but I get along with most animals all right.”
He studied me. Gave a nod. “I asked around about you.”
“That right?” I stopped what I was doing to give him my full attention. “What’d you learn?”
“Nothing about you personally.” He paused. “I don’t think I’d like your dad much. You had a brother?”
“He’s dead.”
“I know.” He met my gaze with soft brown eyes. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
I nodded. “Thanks.”
“I lost my parents when I was young.”
“That’s too bad.” I left that second stall and started in on the third.
He followed, leaning against the stall wall. “They weren’t good parents, but for a while I felt lost without them. I realized they’d never have a chance to
be
good parents, and somehow that seemed sadder even than if they’d been awesome to begin with.”
“I know the feeling.” I mourned the brother I wished I had—the one I
could
have had if it weren’t for my dad—not the man he became.
“Loss can be confusing sometimes, can’t it?” he asked shrewdly.
“Yes, it can.” The words hung there in the air between us.
He took a deep breath and let it out again. “How about I go dump this and bring it back while you get another bag of pellets ready.” He’d started to take the wheelbarrow by the handles when I stopped him.
“I’ll get it, you still need to show me where the manure goes.”
“All right.” He stepped aside. “The system we use for compost is out back.”
“Compost. Isn’t that what people do with scraps of food and coffee grounds?”
“It’s a little more complicated than that. I’ll show you.” He led me out of the barn and around behind it, where they’d gotten some sort of wooden setup going. Somehow I always pictured those organic gardening types throwing their banana peels and orange peels into a bin that turned them into fuel, like in
Back to the Future
. Horses make a lot of waste. I found it hard to imagine “composting” on that scale.
“It’s taken a while to get Speed on board with composting, but he agreed to a trial.”
“What are you going to use the compost for?”
“At some point in the future, I’d like the ranch to be self-sufficient. That means growing food as well as feed crops. Right now, I’m expanding our kitchen garden in a big way, and I’ll sell the rest of the compost to local gardeners in town.”
“Things have changed a lot around here since I’ve been gone.” I enumerated them. “Gay cowboys, a garden, a composting system, a petting zoo.”
“A what?”
“The sheep and alpacas,” I clarified. “They’re like pets.”
“We sell the fibers. It’s almost shearing time now. I assume you’ve sheared sheep before?”
“Can’t say I have.” I must have looked as
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