The ostrich ran like the wind.
I desperately hung onto the base of its long neck and did my damnedest not to squeeze it too hard. The fast-footed fowl’s massive two-toed feet danced across the dirt pathway, leaving a trail of dust behind us that I dared not look back at over my shoulder, despite feeling tiny specks of dirt nipping at the back of my ears before whooshing away as if blasted by a leaf blower.
All I could think of as I clung to the flightless bird was that Annie wasn’t kidding when she said that riding horses kept her thighs taut, as my quads were on fire as they struggled to stay wrapped around the creature’s black-feathered torso. My hair flapped backwards and I had to blink repeatedly as the air dried out my eyes when we reached a speed that must have been close to fifty kilometers per hour.
I initially expressed great hesitation at the thought of hitching a ride on the back of an ostrich as a potential solution for getting to the Cloverdale Rodeo’s Marketplace as soon as possible, but Sykes wasn’t having any of it.
“Are you crazy?” I exclaimed. “Look, I know you’re into quirky stuff with animals, and hey, no judgement,” I said, raising my hands. “I get it, it’s your thing. But you’ve got to admit, even for you this is pushing it.”
“Have you ever travelled via ostrich before, Mr. Ounstead?”
“No, Sykes, I haven’t. I’ve also never gone waterskiing with a beaver.”
“Despite some controversial and inaccurate opinions, ostrich riding is much more common than most realize. In fact, the practice is actually a rather widespread activity in North America and remains a very popular tourist attraction in South Africa.”
“Look, I appreciate that you’re chock-full of fun facts like this, and maybe when Jasper’s killer is behind bars you can tell me all about the mating habits of the penguins at the Cape of Good Hope over another banana milkshake or something. But for now, I think I’ll just try and push my way through the crowds and find this Kooty character myself.”
“What a shame. I could expedite your arrival in a fraction of the time.”
I gritted my teeth and hung my head. Sykes may have been a lot to take at times, but with the exception of Declan, my father, and Rya, there probably wasn’t a person I trusted more.
“Even if I hopped on one of your big bird’s backs, I’m almost six-foot-four, have leaned out, and added some mass since we’ve last met. I tip the scales at a meaty two-forty and change now, Sykes. Don’t these things have a weight limit or something?”
“In point of fact, they do, with the general rule of thumb being that just under ninety kilograms is considered the maximum weight an ostrich can safely support on its back while running.”
“Well, there you go then. I’m nearly fifty pounds over that.”
“I said general rule of thumb, Mr. Ounstead. I believe Odysseus would be an exception in your case.”
“Sweet mother of God,” I said, as I face-palmed myself, not even bothering to inquire as to why the damn ostrich had
earned a distinguished designation while the poor potty-training cow had not.
Seven minutes later, Odysseus the ostrich had carried me so far that I could see the adjacent row of long red barns—which served as the country fair’s shopping area—on the horizon. Unlike the ten-year trek his namesake had traversed, once my rapid-transit land fowl had gotten onto the beaten path—which was essentially a straight shot through a greenbelt of evergreen trees that connected the Agri-Zone and Elements Casino and its horse race track with the outbuildings that served as the Marketplace—the trip went very quickly.
Odysseus and I had been accompanied on our backtrail jaunt by Sykes’s ostrich wrangler Garth, a stout and stoic, fifty-year-old petting zoo veteran who seemed quite comfortable taking instruction from my bookie buddy and being mounted on a flightless bird of his own, all the while ensuring my avian Uber shuttled my oversized ass swiftly and safely to my destination.
Garth made some clicking sounds out of the side of his mouth as we neared the end of the dirt trail, which was in walking distance from the supersized swap meet. Both Odysseus and Garth’s ostrich obediently slowed to trots and eventually full stops. I hopped off of my new feathered friend and gave him a few gracious pats on one of his shaggy wings.
“Definitely faster than a pony ride,” I conceded.
Garth just nodded, then dug a handful of figs out of the pocket of his jeans and fed both Odysseus and his broad-beaked brethren. Having worked up an appetite, Odysseus snaked out his neck like a coiled cobra striking and furiously pecked at the treats in Garth’s open palm, causing a few of the small pear-shaped fruits to fall onto the ground. Garth bent over and scooped them up, but when he stood back up, I noticed a necklace had sprung free from underneath his starched white undershirt. Except it wasn’t just any kind of necklace. It was a stainless steel washer with a silver ball chain looped through it.
“Interesting piece of jewelry,” I said, motioning toward the metallic disc around his neck.
Garth hocked a loogie, spat, and the wad of phlegm arced through the air like a marble-sized saliva shotput.
“Uh-huh,” he said, nonchalantly, before resuming feeding figs to the ostriches.
“You get that from Kooty?”
“Yup.”
“You’re one of his followers then?”
Garth didn’t like that one bit. “I ain’t no lemming,” he snapped. “But I believe in the man and his teachings.”
“Believe what, exactly?”
“Wish it. Will it. Wield it.”
“That like a catchphrase or something?”
“More like a mantra.”
“I see,” I said, pretending to understand, despite becoming more perplexed at how a rodeo rhetorician could inspire such devotion to self-help seminars that as far as I could tell were built around nothing more than a ninety-nine cent trinket that could be quickly cobbled together from the bottom of any household toolbox.
“So, how exactly does it work?”
“How does what work?”
“I mean, do you ‘wish’ for an ostrich, ‘will’ it to be fast, then ‘wield’ the opportunity to turn a profit by charging for rides or something?”
Garth stared at me long and hard for what felt like an eternity. Finally, he spoke. “Are you fucking with me?”
“Wouldn’t dream of it. Does Sykes know about your, uh, affiliation with Kooty?”
Garth snorted again in another attempt at clearing his sinuses. Although it was grating on the ears, I was appreciative that this time the obnoxious sound was not followed by more projectile mucous.
“Sykes don’t know squat. And he don’t need to either, ya hear?” growled Garth. “Lord knows that bastard is nosey enough as it is.”
“He definitely doesn’t miss much,” I said, by way of agreement.
“Well, he’s gonna goddamn stay in the dark, if you know what’s good for you,” he said gruffly, patting the washer still dangling around his neck. “Cuz this here’s my business.”
“You got it, Bub. As long as you tell me where exactly I can find this guru of yours.”
Garth hocked and spat again, which caused me to wince and look away. “Just walk into any of them red barns ahead and ask around. Kooty’ll be kickin’ about somewhere.”
I thanked Garth for both his ostrich and navigational assistance, then headed off toward the Marketplace in an effort to find an inspiring Doukhobor on a dais in mid-diatribe.
Imagine my surprise when I encountered something even more unconventional.