John opened his drawer and tossed over an accounting primer. “If you can make sense of that you’re mine.”
Virgil found bookkeeping pretty easy. John was delighted; he could possibly go to bed before midnight once in a while when Virgil was in the canyon. Gradually the violinist spent more days easing John’s work overload, much to everyone’s relief. They all loved their gruff treasurer with his dry humor and big heart.
Then there was Gregory Castle’s surprise.
When Francis was at the sanctuary, he and Michael liked to stay up and talk after the others had gone to bed. Gregory usually was among the first to leave the supper table. Tonight he stayed.
Michael was aware that their soft-spoken friend was fidgety, only half listening—most unlike him. Finally Gregory could stand it no longer. “I heard from Governor Leavitt today.”
Michael stopped in mid sentence. “How was he feeling?” he deadpanned.
“I only spoke to his office, he’s fine and—” Gregory paused as he realized Michael’s bait.
“Ignore him,” Francis said. “What’s this with the governor?”
Gregory wasn’t used to being put on the spot. He started slowly. “Of course, it’s sort of a fund-raising thing, but Michael’s always talking about a nationwide network of animal lovers. So why not start with a state? Maybe a Utah’s Week for the Animals. It could be a fun, festival sort of thing with adoption fairs, spay and neuter marathons, doggie contests, pet block parties . . .” His words tumbled fast now around his ideas.
“Do you know what would be involved in pulling that together?” Michael asked.
Gregory was momentarily nonplussed.
Francis frowned. “Michael’s got a point. We’ve been doing stuff along the same lines in L.A. but nothing on the scale you’re talking about, Gregory.”
“All I’m saying is that besides the organizing of all the events and volunteers, we’d have to enlist the support of city officials, humane societies, veterinarians, the media,” Michael explained.
Gregory had a rare stubborn look about him. “I made a promise to myself. If Governor Leavitt would endorse the idea, whatever it took I’d make it happen.”
Michael looked at the very serious face of the philosopher in their midst. He could just see their reticent Gregory sitting behind a table in a Salt Lake City mall on a slow Monday, dreaming of his great festival for the animals. He also understood the months of preparation for the presentation of such a plan.
Gregory Castle had been with them from the beginning, an unobtrusive force on which they could always depend. Suddenly he was taking center stage in the state they called home. In the Best Friends outreach to the world, Gregory Castle was claiming his place and would not be denied. Michael poured them all a glass of wine. “Why don’t you tell us more, Gregory?”
One revelation followed another. The next morning Chandra Forsythe had something on her mind. The girl with the wheaten hair that framed Russian Blue cat eyes sat across from Michael in the meeting room, inhaling the steam from her breakfast mug of fresh-brewed coffee. “I can’t live without my caffeine.” She smiled.
Michael waited.
“You know I answer all the letters concerning rabbits?”
Now it was Michael’s turn to smile. Chandra Forsythe had been brought up on a farm on the Canadian side of Niagara Falls. Her father had a fondness for rabbits, letting them breed indiscriminately in their barn. “Sometimes we’d have as many as five hundred of them,” she had stated matter-of-factly.
As a child Chandra could never understand why the bunnies would disappear all the time, only for new ones to arrive and the whole cycle repeat itself. When she was ten her farmer father told her the facts of life. Chandra was shattered to hear that her gentle friends ended up on dinner plates. She never went into the barn again.
Chandra Forsythe had worked with Anne Mejia in Denver, often volunteering to drive supplies to the sanctuary, invariably staying an extra couple of days to help with anything she could. When the crisis of 1991 forced all the Best Friends into tabling, she was right with them. When Chandra made the canyon her base, Faith was happy to turn over the care of her rabbits to the competent young woman.
Now Chandra fished in the pocket of her cardigan and handed Michael a letter. “I really liked the article you did a couple of months ago about Tony the Tasmanian devil dwarf. The lady who wrote this really liked it too. She asks why you don’t do more bunny stories.”
Michael laughed. He’d rather liked Tony himself. A visiting member had found the palm-sized creature cowering beside the highway outside Kanab. For the first twenty-four hours, the tiny brown rabbit had squatted frozen in Chandra’s living room.
Taking pity, Chandra tried stroking the terrified animal. The rabbit latched onto her finger with needle-sharp teeth and refused to let go. Since she didn’t want to frighten the three-pound infant any more than it was already, she gritted her teeth and endured the surprising pain.
They found out later that Tony had escaped from a trailer where the only place a couple with eleven children could find to keep him was in a bucket. Tony showed his undying appreciation of Chandra’s loving care by following her around and nuzzling his velvet nose against her ankles at every opportunity.
Michael could just see the circumspect Canadian tiptoeing around her room to be sure she didn’t accidently step on the diminutive creature. “Your lady’s right. All the animals should get equal coverage.”
“Oh, no.” Chandra said quickly. “I realize more people relate to cats and dogs. But I was wondering . . .” Michael noticed her hands were trembling. “You want to do something for the rabbits, don’t you?” he said with a sudden rush of understanding.
“I have members who’d like a rabbit house. If I wrote to each one personally, I think they’d support building one.”
Michael looked at the earnest face of the woman who had always helped her friends. Chandra adored her rabbits. She would raise the necessary money. “It’s a great idea. I’ll tell our members about it in the magazine.”
Chandra laughed happily. “Do you think Rabbit Redford’s House would be too cute?”
Michael retraced his steps to his trailer. He saw the journey clearly now: a winding highway down which they had come, stretching into the infinite future. One by one, at each bend in the road, the people in the canyon slipped into the roles they hadn’t known were waiting for them. He couldn’t wait to see what tomorrow would bring.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Community of the World
Tom Kirshbaum knew when to get Michael Mountain’s attention: that afternoon sliver of time the Best Friends editor would take time to be with his animals.
“Hello,” the familiar British voice answered on the third ring.
“Michael, got a few minutes?”
“Hold on, I’m in the middle of feeding the cats.” Tom Kirshbaum waited. “Okay, I’m all yours.”
“Do you know anything about CompuServe?”
Michael did. “I’m a member.”
“I have a contact in New York at Time Warner. They’ve set up a Dogs and Cats Forum on CompuServe to promote their animal books. Two of their authors are running it, but they’re really too busy to give it their full attention. I suggested you guys might be interested in taking over.”
Michael took a few seconds to reply. A million possibilities swirled through his mind. He knew the TW Dogs and Cats Forum, had visited its bulletin boards more than a few times. He had been amazed at the way this fledgling online global medium was able to link hundreds of thousands of people with a commonality of interest. The idea of Best Friends interacting with this international community of animal lovers was staggering. “What did they say?”
Tom Kirshbaum laughed. “They didn’t know who Best Friends were, so I took the liberty of sending them a couple of your magazines and a brochure. They love the whole warm, good-news feeling you guys foster. They’d like you to go to New York. Are you interested?”
Michael didn’t hesitate. “Oh, absolutely. When?”
“Next week too soon? We could meet in Phoenix and fly together from there.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
The U.S. Open Tennis Championships were playing at Flushing Meadows the Thursday Michael and Tom Kirshbaum touched down at JFK Airport. Michael remembered the last time he had been in New York. Had it really been over a decade since he had picked up Sun, that crazy, whirling Doberman that had become his heart’s companion?
A long limousine glided silent as a cloud to a stop at the curb beside them. A peak-capped, skinny chauffeur exited and stepped smartly to open the rear door. Michael smiled. The Cadillac’s windows were as dark as the sunglasses he had donned to get Sun on the United flight back to Las Vegas. He ducked into the unfamiliar luxury of the soft, cushioned interior. This was certainly a different time, a different trip.
As the limousine wended its way toward Manhattan Michael was quiet. Even in the sedan’s hushed interior he could feel the pulsing energy of the city, yet he felt strangely discombobulated. He was no stranger to the great metropolises of the world; he had been perfectly comfortable living in them in years past. It was unlike him to feel at a loss. Maybe it was the stranger-in-a-strange-land syndrome. He dismissed the impression from his mind as the car deposited them in front of the Time-Life building. He didn’t have time to think as he and Tom pushed their way through the hurrying afternoon throngs into the imposing lobby.
The elevator whisked them skyward at dizzying speed to Warner Books, home of TW Electronic Publishing. An attractive, thirtyish woman waited to escort them to a corner office. The first thing Michael noticed as the secretary showed them into the president’s domain were books, books everywhere.
Books stacked on the thick-carpeted floor, scattered on the deep-cushioned couch, crammed onto bookshelves, piled on the highly polished conference table that could seat twelve people without crowding. Books dominated every niche of the expansive space except for the endless wall of glass that afforded a stupefying view over Radio City. A few feet away from the impressive windows, three executives talked quietly among themselves.
Tom stepped ahead confidently, shaking hands, making introductions. For a split second, Michael was overwhelmed with an unaccountable sensation of acrophobia: his feet refused to take him forward. He mentally shook himself. This sudden fear of heights was ridiculous. The mesas of the canyon soared much higher than this building. He hiked them every day. Tom turned toward him, questions in his eyes.
Michael had already discerned the person to whom the others deferred. He swallowed his fear and strode toward the man. “I really like your Dogs and Cats Forum. In my opinion, it’s the most intelligent animal site online,” he said extending his hand.
“We like your product,” the president responded as everyone followed his lead and sat at the table. From that moment the meeting flowed. For the next hour they discussed what Best Friends might bring to the table: a library, a “saying good-bye” section to offer sympathy and support for grieving owners, an education board, and much more.
The president listened, only occasionally injecting an observation as the ideas volleyed back and forth. As the business day drew to a close, the conversations trailed off into an expectant pause. The man at the head of the table spoke into the void. “We can sort out the mechanics tomorrow,” he said. “What I’d like you all to be thinking about is what Warner wants Best Friends to bring to the Forum. It’s the upbeat, positive community spirit they project that will build an online following for us. I call it the Best Friends tone. That’s what’s important here. All the rest will come with experience.”
Tom Kirshbaum was thoughtful on the way back to the hotel. “He really got it, didn’t he?”
All day Friday, Michael, Tom, and the Warner executives battle-planned the takeover of the CompuServe site. The discussions were long and detailed, but as Tom had predicted, by 4:00 they shook hands on an agreement: Best Friends would be the online navigators for the Time Warner Dogs and Cats Forum.
From the first week messages were posted from Germany, Denmark, England, Japan, Canada, Mexico, all points east and west. Far up the Amazon River, Alberto Suarez was struggling to save a sick pink dolphin. A Sea World veterinarian responded, not only with conventional medicines Alberto might use, but also with the names of several plants native to the rain forest that might be more readily available.
The Greek Cat Welfare Society trumpeted that they’d reached their goal of spaying and neutering 1,000 of the multitudes of strays in their country. And by the way, if anyone was passing through Athens they could really use some extra hands to feed the homeless kittens that congregated in the National Gardens.
Ralph Donner wrote from the Netherlands that he was going to Zambia to study the dwindling elephant population with the hopes that his findings would spur more effective law enforcement against ivory hunting. He still needed accommodations if anyone could help. They could.
La Sociedad De Animales Felices in Argentina shared their success with a newly implemented spay and neuter program and the unique methods by which they had involved the local neighborhoods.
On and on the messages flashed around the globe. Still the biggest eye-openers to Michael were those routed from the contested zones of Eastern Europe, Israel, and Northern Ireland revealing how people on both sides of the conflicts were coming together to help the animals.
Not everything was serious. They actually got downright silly at times. After several months of postings concerning cats throwing up had degenerated into endless jokes, Tom declared wistfully that he would like to notify the senders to “clean it up” but was reluctant to upset their online community. Flame wars were the last thing anyone wanted.
Michael had no such compunction and posted the following. “The new rule regarding cat vomit is that no one is allowed to download a file while their cat is throwing up—or, moreover, evermore discuss same.” To make sure nobody missed his point, he uploaded a sound clip of a cat throwing up.
The clincher that eternally cemented his curmudgeonly reputation was the missile concerning the bulletin board discussions of where to find the best ice cream in Europe.
“Please remember our principal subject is animal welfare. From recent postings somebody could easily assume that Best Friends is in fact an ice-cream store! A fun topic should be obviously labeled as such, e.g., ‘Today’s Doggerel.’ General conversations of no particular relevance should be posted in the lounge. So call me Grumpy! But if you do, put it under a relevant subject heading!”
To regular onliners’ delight, from that day forward Michael would forever be known as “Grumpy!”
Then there was the long-haul truck driver who would plug in at rest stops, talk about his travels, and post the delightful cat fiction he wrote to pass the hours on the road. It wasn’t long before Mike Blanche had his own following.
But perhaps the most touching connection within this international network was the candle ceremony brought by Marion Hale to the Pet Loss Support section of the Forum.
Under Marion’s guidance, people wrote in for their sick pets. “My cat Sadie is very ill with cancer. Would you please add her name to your prayers.” At a certain hour every Monday night, the community of the world would light a candle and silently send prayers and best wishes for the recovery or passing without pain of the beloved animals.
In essence, Marion Hale became a shepherd of an international online healing circle that brought comfort to thousands. The simple sharing of prayers was so healing and powerful that the ceremony continues on the Internet to this day.
The TW Dogs and Cats Forum consumed everyone who participated, often demanding twelve-hour days to maintain. The service reached more people than Best Friends could have ever dreamed, and the experience and lessons learned were invaluable. When Time Warner decided to phase out their CompuServe Forums, Michael and his friends were ready for their own site on the fledgling World Wide Web—www.bestfri
ends.org.
But that would be three years in the future. Meanwhile, life at the sanctuary went on.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Hello and Good-bye
Harriet tried. She really did. But the undersized black-and-white cat was too sickly when she was brought to the clinic. Diana Asher watched Dr. Allen remove the stillborn kittens from the young cat’s belly. “She didn’t have enough nourishment for them,” he said sadly, placing the sedated feline into a carrier.
“I guessed as much, poor little thing. You’d think I’d be used to sick, hurt, deformed kitties by now, wouldn’t you? I’ve seen enough of them. But you never get used to it, do you, doc?” Diana lifted the carrier off the table. “I think this one could sorely use some of Bruiser’s loving care right now.”
Diane took the skinny little cat to the bunkhouse and made up a bed in her bathroom where the patient could recover in peace. Then she fetched Bruiser. “This is Harriet,” she introduced.
Diana sat beside the tub watching the grand old pro sniff his new charge. Bruiser knew exactly what to do. He lay beside Harriet and cupped his bulk around her tiny frame like a spoon. Carefully, he began cleaning the matted fur.
The feline stirred. Her nurse continued to lick. Harriet twisted her head and Bruiser lapped around her eyes. Diana saw the female’s claws extend. Bruiser paused, golden eyes meeting the female’s green. She hissed. He waited, calmly matching his breathing to hers.
Slowly the black-and-white’s talons sheathed. The cat seemed to disappear into the long fur of the protector she had never had. Diana caught a glimpse of Harriet’s face pressed hard into Bruiser’s neck. Once again she blessed this cat who loved all who came into his world. Diana eased to her feet and tiptoed out of the bathroom.
Bruiser nursed Harriet in the bunkhouse for three weeks. One afternoon, toward the end of their stay, Diana walked in to see the big cat stretched full length on the floor, purring, while Harriet crouched behind, grooming his ears. The little female looked at Diana. “Go away,” she seemed to say. “It’s his turn for some love.”
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