Page 77 of The One You Want

Jerry grabbed up another chicken, this one black and white and much more scrawny looking, with large eyes and a long neck. “He kind of looks like an alien,” I pointed out, and Jerrylaughed.

“That’s the great thing about these birds. There are so many varieties.” So then, of course, he had to tell me about all the different varieties. Silkies and brahma and speckled Sussex and a few others I tuned out. I was too enamored with the baby bird in my arms to mind too much about Jerry’sbabbling.

Finally he set the alien bird down with a sigh. “I could stay with little ones all day but there’s plenty more work todo.”

He showed me a few more pens, all of them filled with birds, pointing out the different varieties he had mentioned. I was able to pick out the silkies and the Sussex but the rest were still a blur to me. One of the birds, the famous Jackie for whom he’d almost bought a necklace, jumped up on his shoulders and stayed there while Jerry showed me the more effective way he had of feeding the larger flocks. Then he walked me through the security measures he had in place to keep outpredators.

“One of the biggest issues I have is rats,” he said, showing me how deep the chicken wire was dug into the ground. “Those buggers can chew through just about anything.” He let out a mournful sigh. “Used to have a barn cat who did a pretty good job keeping the rats out of the way, but Smokey died a few monthsback.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,Jerry.”

He nodded. “You’d think after fifty plus years taking care of livestock it wouldn’t hit me so hard when one of my animals goes, but it always does. He was a good little mouser, my Smokey. Sweet thing,too.”

I placed a hand on his shoulder. “I’ve never really been much of an animal person, but I don’t think there’s anything wrong with getting attached. They’re a big part of yourlife.”

He wiped at his eyes and then frowned, looking at me. “What do you mean you’re not an animal person? I went down to the shelter a few weeks ago, thinking maybe I was ready for a cat, and Dr. Miller told me you were fosteringthree.”

I made a face. “I kind of got roped into that.” By my silly lovesick heart. “The cats, uh, don’t like me verymuch.”

He studied me. “You think you’ll end up keeping them? If not, I’d be willing to take one or two off yourhands.”

I’d been hoping to find someone to take the cats for months. And they would probablyloveit here—all that space to explore, animals to chase, a ready supply of mice and rats to keep thembusy.

So why did the thought of giving them to Jerry make my stomachclench?

“I didn’t plan to keep them,” I said slowly. “But I’m not sure they’re really outdoorcats.”

“So long as they haven’t been declawed, they should do okay. Tell you what, take ’em in to see Dr. Miller and see what he says. I’d be willing to take all three, if you think they should be kepttogether.”

“Um, okay. I’ll talk to thevet.”

My stomach was still clenching in an uncomfortable way but Jerry informed me it was time to clean out the coops, so I tried to push away the unexpectedly worried feeling andconcentrate.

That wasn’t my favorite part—when was dealing with chicken crap ever fun? But I was starting to get a lot more comfortable around the birds. They weren’t so bad, I was discovering, when they didn’t swarm me quite so much. There was a particular fluffy white silkie that seemed to have taken a liking to me, following me around the farm as I helped Jerry out with hischores.

By the time Grant arrived to pick me up, I was tired and sore—but happy. That day had been much more fun than I would have ever guessed. Jerry sent us off with two-dozen eggs and a promise that I could come back to visitanytime.

“You look much less traumatized than I was expecting,” Grant said as we started down the road towards hisplace.

“That was actually fun!” I held up my foot to show him the two inches of mud at the bottom of my jeans. “I got alldirty!”

He laughed. “As a connoisseur of dirt, I approve.” He looked down at me. “So did you find your callingtoday?”

Some of the happiness dissipated like air going out of a balloon. “I don’t think so. I had fun but I can’t see myself raising chickens for aliving.”

He slung an arm around my shoulders. “So that brings you to what…sixattempts?”

“Seven,” I said morosely. “I was over at the inn with Iris and David at the beginning of theweek.”

“Oh, that’s right, the day I had to go to the mainland. I don’t think we talked about thatone?”

We hadn’t, because I had very intentionally changed the subject when he got back and asked about myday.

“It was, you know,fine.”

Grant stopped walking and turned to me. “Whathappened?”

I could feel the flush gathering on my neck. “It wasn’t myfault.”