After we put the leftover feed back in the shipping container shed, Elliot pointed to the house, and we started off. We wiped our boots on a boot brush, me tearing off layers of my wet jacket and top shirt. Elliot dropped his big coat on a hook by the back door. We both unlaced and stepped out of our boots and finally went into the house. From the moment I opened the front door, any thought of retrieving my meager salad from the car disappeared. Elliot had put food in dad’s crock pot for us that morning, and the house smelled amazing. “I hope it’s okay,” he said. “I figured you’d be hungry, and me and your dad used to have sumpin’ most days in winter.” He showed me where it was kept in the freezer in flattened bags marked “Goat Stew,” the top one with a date from last June. I let him know that it was more than okay, and to help himself any time.
Elliot and I hungrily slurped down our meal, as the weather station on the radio told us about the much needed snow pack and the upcoming week’s highs and lows. I was surprised how comfortable it was, just eating and listening to the reports. We were so glad to be out of the cold, and the stew tasted like a steaming bowl of heaven. I think I would have eaten it if the bags had said “baby rhino” or “fly larvae” on them.
After a few minutes to let the stew settle and our fingers thaw a little more, we headed back outside. We walked the goat fence, and Elliot showed me places where branches or goats had pulled the electric fence loose, how to unhook the voltage, and how to make repairs by wrapping the wire around a connector and twisting ends together. He had a spool of wire, and we cut off pieces when the downed wire was too short to reconnect. I kept slipping my gloves on and off, but my fingers were nearly frozen again by the time we got done with the fence.
The wind calmed, and we went over and checked on the dogs which I’d only seen from a distance. There are six hunting or herding dogs that stay in a kennel not far from the house. For the most part, they are friendly dogs. There are two brown ones that go by one name, TNT (short for Trevor and Trenton), and look like a mix between beagles and labs. Some kind of hunting dogs, I’m guessing. There is a timid Australian Shepherd named Pippin, a gregarious black lab named Lucy, a giant babyish Great Pyrenees named Bruno, and a stubby-looking Scotty mix called Frodo.
The whole team is like one big family, and even though they like company and bark like crazy whenever they see us approaching, they seem content in their captivity. Their set-up was designed well, with heated dog houses for everybody, and a big shed-like thing for them to be fed and watered (two heated water dishes) and for them to lounge in and stay out of the wind and weather. Their food is kept outside the run in a deck box. There were chew toys, tennis balls, and sticks all over the run. Lucy, trying to ingratiate herself to me, brought a soggy tennis ball over and dropped it at my feet. Elliot warned me not to throw it unless I wanted to be there all day, so I just scratched Lucy behind the ears and helped Elliot finish feeding the dogs.
We gave them all a “look-over” to make sure there were no signs of cold exposure or injury. When we closed up, Elliot pulled Bruno out, took her over to the gate of the goat field, and told her, “Go to work!” Yep, Bruno's a girl, and her “work” is to watch the property all night. She took off and started walking the fence.
After Elliot and I gathered eggs again, he showed me how to close the main gate when I left, where the key was hidden in a little box attached to one of the posts. What an idiot I am! I have driven past the gate without even noticing it. I wonder if Elliot has come back over and closed it after I left or if he was still on the property somewhere? It’s all a mystery.
After Elliot went home, I decided to spend a little time in the house. I sat in the living room, taking it all in, and trying to pull just one memory from my childhood into my conscious mind, but I was at a loss. I stared at the door to my dad’s bedroom, waiting. For what I don’t know. I was frozen and could feel my muscles start to ache after the long, cold day outside. Now, I know I’m no athlete or anything, but it blows me away how much work these guys do. Today would probably be nothing for my dad and Elliot.
I was torn a couple of ways. I desperately wanted to connect with my dad, but at the same time, I felt like it would be invading his privacy to start tearing his house apart. His voice boomed in my head, “Come on, Outlaw, I don’t have any privacy anymore. Death kinda removes the need for standing on ceremony.”
I got up and opened his door. I took a step inside and let my eyes settle on every inch of his room, from the tidy bookshelf, filled with his personal reading material – philosophy, sci-fi, old journals, and classics, to the wall of hooks that held his
