Next weekend I've been asked to watch over my old friend Marcy's house. It's a giant old rambling ranch house on a good piece of land with gardens, garage, a stable, and all. There are chickens to feed, a horse to feed (and ride), and a reliable old dog.

Marcy and her husband are off to Colorado for a weekend to meet the new significant woman in her son's life. Flying off for only two days just to meet your son's new girlfriend; there's an indulgence I may not know for a long time. Right now I'll be lucky to spring for enough gas to keep me in my car until next payday, especially if I'm driving all the way out to God's country to watch over the ranch. Marcy's a retired school teacher (as is her husband) and she was my mentor teacher some twenty years ago. She's become something of a maternal figure for me, and very welcome to it. I'm always glad to see her or do her a favor. Again though, this timing is always a crunch.

I'd promised some friends I'd drive with some of them in my car to Cemetery Screenings in the Hollywood Forever cemetery to see the old 1954 version of Invasion of the Body Snatchers. I love campy science fiction. However, looking at the distance it's going to be a hellova drive from the north end of L.A. County all the way to WeHo and Culver City. By the time I make it back to the ranch it'll probably be well into the a.m. hours. Then I'll have to wake early to pack up my belongings and make sure the house is straight and ready for Marcy's return. Oh, and then there's all the animals to make sure are fed and clean. Two days shouldn't be that much work at the house, maybe even no work at all. I think my apprehension comes from this odd little curse that has happened the last few times I watched over the ranch.

Last summer I was ambushed by her new house alarm system. I didn't have the new codes, the alarm was blaring, and between going in and out of the house, trying to quell the dog, the alarm, and the neighbors that did come to find out what caused the commotion, the cat escaped. I hadn't even noticed her disappearance until the next morning when I was making my rounds in the feeding line of all God's creatures (great and small.) A whole day passed before I became alarmed. When Marcy called I asked if she'd taken her cat with her, or if she'd sent it off to someone else. No? Gulp! So we lost a cat. In that high country a lost cat isn't ordinarily found... well, not by people.

The next time I house-sat was in November around Thanksgiving. It was a longer stay and although I had the alarm codes and more care about entering and exiting the house, I didn't have a lot of free time on my hands. I was grading papers for school and making up the finals that would be given in the next few weeks. One of the advantages of watching the house is taking the horse out for a long ride over at Hansen Dam Park, but this time I just couldn't get the hours necessary for a good ride. On the other hand, it worked a little to my advantage. A few days after my watch the horse contracted some terrible digestive disease that made her so sick she had to be put down. I have to admit, while my hands are clean, I couldn't shake the guilt I felt for having some indiscernible connection to her death.

A month ago Marcy asked me to watch the house again, only for about four days. I was a little apprehensive, but with Marcy's kind words and need for someone to watch over all the animals, I figured she'd never given the loss of a cat or the death of the horse any association to me. Now there's unconditional love! So I promised to come over and watch all the animals again.

Now I have to admit, during the week before I was a little preoccupied with some guy that seemed to be pretty enamored with me, and that kept my head in the clouds. I knew I would have tremendous responsibilities for the weekend, and I would never for a minute neglect the pets or the livestock. Marcy had a new horse and I was over protective of its care. Although I was thinking a lot about the new guy, most of my time would be occupied with the new horse, the housework, the gardens, and the stable; and when I wasn't doing that there wold be school work and the preparations for that. New guy and I had both promised we'd talk over the weekend, but it wasn't going to be easy. My hours would be filled. Besides, over the last couple of days I was starting to get the feeling that things were changing like an evening breeze. This guy seemed to be going through some kind of transition, and I got the feeling I might be on the way out. Hew was going off to his place in the desert while I was caring for Animal Farm of the damned. A few days apart might have been the best remedy for the both of us. Perhaps there'd be a renewed interest after the weekend.

If my mind wandered to thoughts about him, I refrained from making a pest of myself. He said he'd call, but again I didn't want to push it. Besides, I'd heard he was having trouble untangling himself from his ex and the emotional turmoil that must have created was probably more than the man needed. What good could an unsolicited call from me do?

I'd already spent a number of hours taking phone calls from him and listening to him whisper over the phone, or trying to hear him over the television he was using to drown the sound from his eavesdropping ex that still lived in the same house. No, this was not a situation to bother with a surprise phone call. He's better off getting a break and being away with his friends.

Part of me sometimes wondered if I was just being played for an incredible fool. I mean, a guy with a live-in ex? Suppose that was just a line he uses while he plays around with other guys? It happens with some guys, ya know? What if he's in one of those open relationships? I'd never been to his place, and I'd never been anything but completely honest. It's true, I can't lie. I'm no good at it. I stammer and divert eye contact at the slightest hint of accusations. No, it's always been better and easier for me to tell truth as I know it. besides, as I always say, it's easier to tell the truth and remember it because it's the truth. Lies, however, those aren't so easy; and that's why I'm pretty good at knowing when someone's lying. I've got an incredibly good memory for details and word-for-word verbatim. This guy I was seeing, he wasn't telling contradicting stories. So I figure he's either telling the truth or he's really good at lying. There's always that third element: I could have wanted him so badly that I was deaf to the contradictions in his stories. But that doesn't seem likely. Over our time apart I'd been pretty rational and reviewed most of what I remembered. I hadn't been making any excuses for him or rationalizing with my heart instead of my head. He's just overwhelmed; too much to deal with, too many irons in the fire, too many things going on. Maybe I was just an attractive distraction. While we had a few moments of great attraction, there was no way he could sustain attention for another person/situation/guy while he was so busy.

True. That's what I thought. He has a hostile situation at home that seemed to be growing more intense and emotional, a lease on a home that was ending very soon; parents that seemed to know he wasn't himself and not altogether very happy lately; the advice of so many friends that were also trying to look out for his best interests; and he has a very demanding job (and a volcano that really interrupted his international schedule -yea, I almost laughed at that one, too! I mean, how often does that interrupt your day?) How the hell did I even get swept into his attention for even a moment? Well, whatever. Easy come, easy go. If he's lost attention, we move on.

I should have known watching Marcy's house last month was going to be a hassle when I lost my way there. I'd driven the route a million times, but never at night. I'd gotten a late start after work, I was exhausted, and the canyon roads weren't well lighted. Out there in the rural suburbs why would anything be well lighted?

When I arrived I completely spaced out and forgot the pass code for the alarm. I just stood outside the front door with my overnight bag in one hand and the key in the other, frozen. It took me a few seconds to breathe and think, "I know this. I can do this. Just remember the numbers, damn it!" And soon enough I did.

The next day when I went for a quick ride downhill to get some groceries and additional pet food I lost my car keys. Well, actually I didn't loose them. It took me half a minute to realize that when I'd set the bags down into the trunk I'd also left the keys in there. Hence, when I slammed the lid I'd locked the keys in too. Being my car is an old classic '65, there was no trunk release to save me. Hence, two hours and sixty dollars later, triple A came and rescued me from the stranded humiliation that I'd suffered in the parking lot among the gawking locals.

On the last morning I woke early to feed the livestock, the dog, pack up my car, and double check the house. About the time I went to the chicken coop I noticed that the one and only rooster was not looking right. He seemed to be nesting in the corner and leaning against one wall. Usually he's all over the place trying to scare me away from the hens. This didn't seem good. I made a note to check in again later.

After locking down the house I went back to the coop and saw that the rooster was now slumped down on the floor of the coop looking like he'd done four rounds with some bruiser in a cockfight. I got my phone out and called Marcy while I stood near the rooster keeping the other chickens away I left her a message and immediately followed it with a text.

"the rooster is not well. I think I'd better call the vet."

Marcy responded with a message a few minutes later. "What's wrong? The vet's number is in the stable on the wall by the tack room door."

"He looks sleepy and almost lifeless. Calling vet now." I responded.

I called the vet and got his wife. She said that it doesn't sound like the rooster is well. She told me to keep him dry and warm. She'd page her husband and call me back. I took a clean tea towel from the kitchen and ran back to the coop. I wrapped it around the body of the rooster and picked up his limp body like a small baby doll. I could see his eyes half open and look at me as his little beak opened partly. He only made a half attempt to resist before he went limp again. The vet's wife called me back and told me she had paged the vet and he'd be over as quickly as he could. He was already on calls to visit three other patients and a dairy, but he should be able to get to us before two o'clock.

"Two o'clock?!" I thought, "that's hours from now." Although I wasn't sure what was wrong, I was sure that this bird was not going to look better. Still, that was the fastest medical help I could get. Marcy might be home sooner than the doctor. I texted her again. "I'm staying with the rooster. I've called out of work until you get home. Vet has been called."

She texted back. "Okay, I've seen this before. I'll be home before two."

Thank heavens! If she gets here before the vet I'll know that we get the vet's diagnosis at the same time. If I had to tell her after the fact, I'd feel like I owned it; like I'd been responsible for the death of the one rooster she had; I'd feel like I killed. The hours passed. During the time the rooster's body grew colder and stiffer. His talons curled tighter and cloer to his body. He never opened his eyes again and the russet color of his eyelids and comb grew yellowish and shriveled. At eleven I knew I was holding a dead bird, but I didn't want to accept it as a reality. It couldn't be true until Marcy was here. I won't believe it. I can't.

More time passed and the noon sun was overhead making it hot outside. The rooster in the small towel was not warm, and I couldn't feel any heat or perspiration from carrying his body in the one arm I had him cradled. I know what it meant, but I couldn't think it.

When Marcy got home she came back to the coop and saw us both there. She said, "He's dead, isn't he?"

"The doctor isn't here yet; he said he'd be here by two" I answered.

"Dan, he's not going to be able to help that poor rooster. That rooster is dead." she looked at me as if she were trying to break bad news for me to accept. "He may have been bitten by an insect, or been scratched on something, but he's dead." She put one arm around me and took the bundled towel with the other hand. She lead me back to the house.

I drove home in the hot afternoon in my car with the top down. I wish I'd remembered to put it up before I started. The sun was still beating down on my head. I was getting hot, my face felt wet, and my stomach was sick with guilt for a dead bird I didn't even hurt. When I got home I just dragged my stuff inside and collapsed into bed for the rest of the day.

When I woke up the next day I got ready for work and tried not to think of the past weekend. I went through four days on remote, shifting through work thoughtlessly processing the work in front of me, issuing reading and writing assignments, explaining vocabulary, but pretty much working from a mental block. On Thursday when I woke up I saw a text from that guy I liked.

"PS was sunny and beautiful. 2 friends came down to visit so good company. Off to gym then looking at condos after that. Call ya later"

I thought about it. It had been a week since we'd last talked. I hadn't called him. I hadn't even thought about him. Some how all that seemed important about him was no longer. It hurt, but not because he was gone and had been forgotten, but because I hadn't felt the change happening in me. I'd felt more empathy over the dying rooster than I did about a guy that was dumping me. He never called.

Now it's Saturday, June 19th. I've just tended all the animals. They're all well. I got here safely last night, and knew the code easily the minute I slid the key into the lock. When I came into the kitchen I read a note that Marcy had left:

"Dan-

Again, our deepest appreciation! Check the yard now, we have rabbits! Five girls in the hutch.

Cinnamon [the horse] is getting beefy so feed him just one thin flake twice a day. Carrots and apples are optional if you want to give them.

And Max [the German Shepherd] is still just Max. Twice a day dry mix and one or two treats a day.

Now remember, I already have great confidence in your care and so should you. Max already loves you and so do we. Nothing has ever failed by any part from your care. Sometimes animals just die and we have to accept that. The cat had her own ideas and I suspect she'd been planning her escape for years.

You've already proven you are attentive and show more concern and patience than anyone else we've trusted with the house and all our animals. Please be strong and confident, because I know you are.

Be home seven-ish in the evening on Sunday

Love,

Marcy"