have given herself permission to fall apart. Tiny's eyes were glazed over, as he sat in the dirt and silently stroked his pet pig. Nova, a towel still on her head, perched on the edge of the tire planter.
Dr. Rubin went to work immediately. He quickly examined the wound and swabbed the area with a strong-smelling disinfectant, casting the used gauze pads into a heap. “Looks like a .22,” he said, probing the hole with a pair of long-handled scissors.
That was it for me. I stared in the opposite direction. When he finally said, “Aha! There's the culprit,” I peeked. The slug was clenched in the forceps’ jaws.
“It's a .22 all right,” Rubin said. Tru nodded, as if he saw bullets every day. Lutie talked nonstop, pleading with Rubin to save Jim, praying to the good Lord to have mercy and send all the angels. I wondered if my aunt thought pigs had guardian angels too.
Up to now Tiny had kept quiet. “Of course, he’ll do what he can, Pearl, honey,” he said, stroking Lutie's shoulder. “If anyone can save ol’ Jim, it's Rubin. Why don’t you go wash off your hands? Maybe Doc would like some of your iced tea. I know I would.” Tiny managed a crooked grin and shifted his weight from one foot to the other.
Rubin glanced up. “Yes, ma’am, iced tea sounds nice. Don’t worry. Jim's going to pull through.” He tied sutures so deftly, I thought he must have been a tailor at one time. In minutes he’d closed the wound, applied a bandage, and evenpulled out of his bag one of those lampshade collars they put on dogs.
“What's that for?” Tru wanted to know. He’d watched the whole procedure carefully, asking so many questions that I’d been tempted to shush him. He had this intense look on his face now, with his brow bunched up and jaw set.
“It's to keep Jim from messing with the bandage,” Rubin said.
“Makes him look dorky,” Nova said.
“Just like you,” Tru countered. The crisis was over.
Lutie called us in for iced tea. Suddenly, my mouth was dry and gritty. My leg muscles reminded me that I hadn’t exercised this much since before Nova was born.
We all trooped inside and crowded into the living room. Rubin seemed taller than before. We sat on the sofa, but I stayed as far away from the vet as I could. “I was sure your house was the A-frame,” I said.
“Nope, that's Linc's place. I’m just the other side of the fence.”
“I knew it,” Tru said. He did have a sixth sense about him.
And I was certain my father would have known what to do with the pig crisis too. He would have calmly taken over and handled everything, and I wouldn’t have had to run across the desert. Or he would have taught me in a patient, deliberate voice what to do in emergencies, and he would have been proud when I passed this skill on to my children. Joseph Pond would have shielded me from the worst things but taught me to stand on my own. He would have known that violence is useless, but he would have taught me how to deliver a good right hook. I don’t know how I knew all that. I just did.
“I thought it would be dull out here, but so far, it's been anything but boring,” I said. “First I meet you, and then somewacko shoots a pig. Lutie says it's that neighbor of ours, Linc Jackson.”
Rubin was quiet for a moment. Then he stared right at me. The brim of his baseball cap shaded his eyes, but I thought they looked troubled. “Listen. Linc didn’t shoot the pig.”
“Well, then, who did?”
He sighed. “It was me. I’m the wacko.”
“But you just saved its life.”
He looked away. “I know, but just before I left to go to Linc's place I was down checking the slough. Something rustled in the bushes, and I thought it was a cow.” He looked embarrassed.
“You shot a cow?” Tru said. He plunked himself on the floor next to Rubin. “But it was an accident, right?”
“Course it was,” Tiny said. “Accidents happen.”
“Thanks, Tiny,” Rubin said. “You and I both know Linc's cows
Dr. Rubin went to work immediately. He quickly examined the wound and swabbed the area with a strong-smelling disinfectant, casting the used gauze pads into a heap. “Looks like a .22,” he said, probing the hole with a pair of long-handled scissors.
That was it for me. I stared in the opposite direction. When he finally said, “Aha! There's the culprit,” I peeked. The slug was clenched in the forceps’ jaws.
“It's a .22 all right,” Rubin said. Tru nodded, as if he saw bullets every day. Lutie talked nonstop, pleading with Rubin to save Jim, praying to the good Lord to have mercy and send all the angels. I wondered if my aunt thought pigs had guardian angels too.
Up to now Tiny had kept quiet. “Of course, he’ll do what he can, Pearl, honey,” he said, stroking Lutie's shoulder. “If anyone can save ol’ Jim, it's Rubin. Why don’t you go wash off your hands? Maybe Doc would like some of your iced tea. I know I would.” Tiny managed a crooked grin and shifted his weight from one foot to the other.
Rubin glanced up. “Yes, ma’am, iced tea sounds nice. Don’t worry. Jim's going to pull through.” He tied sutures so deftly, I thought he must have been a tailor at one time. In minutes he’d closed the wound, applied a bandage, and evenpulled out of his bag one of those lampshade collars they put on dogs.
“What's that for?” Tru wanted to know. He’d watched the whole procedure carefully, asking so many questions that I’d been tempted to shush him. He had this intense look on his face now, with his brow bunched up and jaw set.
“It's to keep Jim from messing with the bandage,” Rubin said.
“Makes him look dorky,” Nova said.
“Just like you,” Tru countered. The crisis was over.
Lutie called us in for iced tea. Suddenly, my mouth was dry and gritty. My leg muscles reminded me that I hadn’t exercised this much since before Nova was born.
We all trooped inside and crowded into the living room. Rubin seemed taller than before. We sat on the sofa, but I stayed as far away from the vet as I could. “I was sure your house was the A-frame,” I said.
“Nope, that's Linc's place. I’m just the other side of the fence.”
“I knew it,” Tru said. He did have a sixth sense about him.
And I was certain my father would have known what to do with the pig crisis too. He would have calmly taken over and handled everything, and I wouldn’t have had to run across the desert. Or he would have taught me in a patient, deliberate voice what to do in emergencies, and he would have been proud when I passed this skill on to my children. Joseph Pond would have shielded me from the worst things but taught me to stand on my own. He would have known that violence is useless, but he would have taught me how to deliver a good right hook. I don’t know how I knew all that. I just did.
“I thought it would be dull out here, but so far, it's been anything but boring,” I said. “First I meet you, and then somewacko shoots a pig. Lutie says it's that neighbor of ours, Linc Jackson.”
Rubin was quiet for a moment. Then he stared right at me. The brim of his baseball cap shaded his eyes, but I thought they looked troubled. “Listen. Linc didn’t shoot the pig.”
“Well, then, who did?”
He sighed. “It was me. I’m the wacko.”
“But you just saved its life.”
He looked away. “I know, but just before I left to go to Linc's place I was down checking the slough. Something rustled in the bushes, and I thought it was a cow.” He looked embarrassed.
“You shot a cow?” Tru said. He plunked himself on the floor next to Rubin. “But it was an accident, right?”
“Course it was,” Tiny said. “Accidents happen.”
“Thanks, Tiny,” Rubin said. “You and I both know Linc's cows
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