13

HOOFSTOCK

After Wendy had been married a year, she decided she just had to do something to get over her fear of strangers. It wasn’t that she needed to start working a regular job, because she had managed to find a number of small businesses that would pay her to do their accounts. This she could do at home on the computer. But it seemed like the more she stayed out on the farm, the jumpier she got when she had to go to town to get fencing supplies or feed for the animals.

Working at Red River Ranch, she decided, might help her get used to being around people again. It wouldn’t be like a regular job. She could volunteer for just one day a week, and if she got too stressed out she could slip away to some quiet corner of the ranch and calm down with the animals.

• • •

When the McDermonts, who owned Red River Ranch, accepted her as a volunteer every Friday, Danny agreed to come out to the farm after school to check on the animals.

He was twelve by then, and as far as Wendy knew, things hadn’t got any better for him. In fact, they may have got worse. He was in Grade 7, and what she remembered of Grade 7 was that there was always a lot of mean teasing and outright bullying. But there was no more she could do about that than he could do about her own fear. It was something both of them would have to deal with.

At Red River Ranch, Wendy was first put to work looking after hoofstock. Karen showed her the ropes. Wendy was just getting to know and like the feisty redhead when Karen quit. She was about to start college in Memphis, which was too far away for her to continue working as a volunteer at the ranch.

After Karen left, Wendy was mostly alone with the hoofstock, which suited her just fine. Most volunteers wanted to work with exotic animals, either that or an easy job like guiding visitors around the park. They didn’t like the barnyard chore of shovelling manure and feeding the park’s sheep, goats, burros, zebras, antelope, deer, and llamas. But Wendy was completely happy looking after hoofstock and never complained.

However, once Mr. and Mrs. McDermont found out how much experience she had with local wildlife, and heard from Karen how helpful she had been with the baby lions, they often called on her to help with other animals. Wendy would be working away on the back side of the pasture, covered with sweat and dust, when she’d look up to see one of the other volunteers running toward her, calling, “Wendy, come here! Mrs. McDermont wants you to feed the lemur.” Or, “Wendy, Mr. McDermont wants you to clean the cougar enclosure.”

Wendy didn’t mind any of the work assigned to volunteers except guiding people through the park. Her favourite job was working in the nursery, patiently trying to get some orphan baby animal to swallow a few drops of milk. There, alone with the animals and away from people, she forgot her fears and was totally happy.

Only when classes were held at Red River Ranch on emergency care for injured animals or something else of interest did she voluntarily join in a group activity. Mr. McDermont teased her about the way she took every opportunity to learn more about animal care. “What do you plan to do with all this knowledge you’re gaining, Wendy? Open your own animal park in competition with mine and put me out of business?”

Wendy shook her head. “Don’t worry, Mr. McDermont. I’m more interested in rehabilitating animals and getting them back into the wild.” She hesitated, and added, “The state is going to start requiring people to be licensed to do wildlife rehab. I was thinking that if I took all the classes offered here at Red River Ranch, and you wrote me a recommendation —”

Mr. McDermont interrupted. “Girl, you already know darn near as much about native wildlife as I do. All you’ve learned here is to work with some of these exotic species.”

“Oh, I’ve learned a lot from your classes on first aid and wildlife diseases and tons of other stuff,” Wendy assured him.

“Well, any time you want to apply for that rehab license, I’ll be glad to write you a letter of recommendation,” Mr. McDermont promised. “You probably should apply for a USDA license, too.”

“What’s a USDA license?” Wendy asked. “And why would I want one?”

“United States Department of Agriculture,” Mr. McDermont explained. “You’d need one if you ever decided to do educational programs using live animals. Since you’re working here, and we’re USDA-licensed.” He snapped his fingers. “Easy. You just let me know when you need those letters of recommendation.”

“Thanks,” Wendy said, giving Mr. McDermont a wave as he headed off to talk to another volunteer.

She had barely stuck the pitchfork back in the pile of manure to heave it over the fence into the compost before Mr. McDermont turned around and jogged back to where she was working. “Wendy,” he called. “Something I forgot to tell you.”

“What’s that?”

“My wife said you said something about wanting a llama.”

“Well, sort of,” Wendy said. “But they’re pretty expensive and —”

“I know a guy who wants to get rid of a couple. He offered them to us, free. But you can see,” Mr. McDermont said, waving his arm toward the pasture, “we don’t need another llama. Certainly not another male.”

“A pair? And he’s giving them away?” Wendy asked incredulously.

“Not exactly a pair. Two brothers. Says he’ll trailer them over himself.”

Wendy hesitated. She probably should ask Kyle first, but hadn’t she mentioned getting llamas before? And hadn’t he said it was okay?

“Why is the guy is giving them away?” she queried. “Is there something wrong with them?”

“Well, he did say they’re break-out artists.”

“Oh, that won’t be a problem for us,” Wendy said confidently. “We just finished fencing our place.”