Best Friends

by Samantha Glen

  “Now let me guess.” Nick Toma pretended great concentration. “You’re on in fifteen minutes with Shelley Osterloh?”

  Gregory nodded happily. Raphael de Peyer’s persistence had paid off. “You leave the bookings to me,” he had assured Gregory. “I’ll have you doing three interviews a day before I’m finished.”

  Raphael outdid himself when he arranged for Questar, the local gas utility, to promote a reduced-rate spay and neuter program. For twenty-one days leading up to Utah’s Week for the Animals, Questar donated a sixty-second spot on NBC’s coveted “Ten O’clock News.” Every night people were encouraged to call the Best Friends 800 number for a referral to a veterinarian in their area participating in the low-cost program.

  “Tell your media guy he’s all right. If he ever needs a job, I’m sure we could find a place for him,” Nick Toma assured him as he passed out of sight.

  Media guy? Raphael would get a kick out of that tag. “Thanks, I’ll pass it on,” Gregory called after the retreating newsman.

  Forty-five minutes later the man from Best Friends was soothing two large dogs in the back of a taxi on its way to the KISN radio station. Three-legged Shamus wasn’t much trouble. The shepherd mix had become comfortable with being fourth greeter in line after Amra’s eagle-eyed approval and Rhonda and Cameron’s trotting enforcement of the Sheriff’s wishes.

  The sweet dog had the most endearing habit of sitting with, as Faith described it, an “eyes 101” gaze that made visitors search frantically in their pockets or purses for any kind of treat to assuage the soulful plea.

  Buster, on the other hand, was a rambunctious hound left behind by the Crams when they moved to town. Mary and Norm loved their pooch dearly, but Buster had lived all his life in the canyon, and he knew Best Friends. The galumphing creature would often disappear only to be found, long, pink tongue salivating, outside Octagon Three at feeding time. “I think he’d be happier with you all,” Norm Cram groused when the dog refused to leave.

  Shamus, Gregory knew, would steal the hearts of Todd, Erin, and Fisher, the drive-time talk show hosts. Buster would probably provoke havoc. On the other hand, a little lively interaction might be just the ticket.

  The three radio personalities were waiting when Gregory and company arrived. Buster took an immediate liking to attractive, strawberry-blonde Erin. The great hound placed two hairy paws on her shoulders and proceeded to demolish all traces of her makeup with his affectionate tongue. Erin melted. “No, no, it’s all right,” she smiled when Gregory attempted to restrain the happy animal.

  Host Todd was playing with Shamus. “Hey, boy. You don’t know you’ve got only three legs, do you?” Shamus conferred his best “eyes 101” and lifted his front paw for a handshake. Todd broke up. “Did you train him to do this?”

  “He’s a natural born ham,” Gregory affirmed.

  Erin wiped her face with a tissue. “We don’t really need you, Gregory.” She grinned mischievously and winked at her co-hosts. “We planned to only interview the dogs. Of course, you can speak for them, but do you think they could sort of bark and growl or just drool on cue?”

  Gregory was sure the dogs would articulate most any sound Erin asked. Buster, he could see, was totally in love. Shamus couldn’t take his eyes off hip Todd with his dark hair to his waist and urban chic jeans and shirt. Gregory fished a liver cookie from his pocket. “Shamus will bay at the moon for you if you treat him right,” he smiled, handing over Shamus’s bribe.

  Fisher shook his head laughing. “Five seconds to air time. Let’s do it, guys.”

  A side bonus of Utah’s Week for the Animals was the semi-load of dog bowls, blankets, pooper-scoopers, kitty toys, doggie gyms, and cat scratching furniture contributed from all over; and the soaps, disinfectants, cleaning products, and incredible forty tons of cat litter donated by Huish Detergents, Inc.

  In every issue of the magazine, Michael and Steven found room to feature other animal organizations that needed assistance. When lady luck smiled on Best Friends with such an abundance of goodies, it was only natural they share the wealth.

  Michael would always remember the devout Catholic couple who ran a lovely little sanctuary outside Santa Fe. They drove twelve hours in a pickup, trailer attached, to load up with supplies. “You have no idea how much this helps,” they repeated again and again along with their novenas.

  All in all, Gregory pronounced Utah’s Week for the Animals the best thing he had ever initiated.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  Kid Lady

  Cyrus led the party to the grizzled veteran snoozing in the April sunshine. “This is Victor the Dogfather, capo among canines.” The shepherd opened one eye and promptly slipped back to dreamland. Cyrus smiled. “Victor guards the heart of Dogtown. He’s sleeping on an invisible line in the sand that no dog dare cross unless accompanied by a person.”

  A brown-haired young woman squatted to stroke the patchy fur on the shepherd’s head. “He looks so old and feeble. Why don’t the others just ignore him?”

  “Ah,” Cyrus said. “It’s all in the image. You see, when Victor first arrived . . .”

  Michael listened to their ambassador expound on the legend of the Dogfather. Cyrus had a big group this afternoon, but then Michael had never seen so many people as were coming this summer of 1996.

  Cyrus conducted two tours a day now. This year, too, Best Friends was seeing volunteers trek in from every state in the nation, as well as from Canada and Europe, to spend a weekend, a month, an entire summer vacation. Others came for the weeklong seminars on all things animal. And thanks to Nathania’s programs, students could now earn college credit by spending hands-on time at the sanctuary.

  The word around town was that the local merchants were most pleased. This sudden influx of visitors brought a whole new breed of customer to the shops and motels of Kanab. That place in the canyon might have merit after all.

  Michael strolled toward the clinic. Behind him he heard the growl of a mini-van’s engine halting in front of Octagon Three. He turned and watched Nathania Gartman open the doors for a group of high-school boys. Michael was happy for Nathania. The dream she had envisioned fourteen years earlier was at last taking shape: the children were coming.

  Of all of them, Nathania was the one who invariably attracted the inquisitiveness of the youngsters when she went tabling. After Chris Smith’s positive article, she began receiving invitations to speak at schools around the state. As always, when Nathania chose to surprise everyone as Daffydil the Clown, her reception was rapturous. It was inevitable that the children would clamor to visit the sanctuary.

  It wasn’t long before kids from kindergarten through high school trooped through Best Friends. They petted the cats, walked the dogs, played with the rabbits in Chandra’s new Bunny House, fed the horses, and ogled the birds as Sharon explained their care and habits. Michael had gotten used to seeing the eager upturned young faces crowded around an ebullient Nathania.

  However, that didn’t look like the scenario unfolding this afternoon. The adolescents slouched out of the van sulky and defiant. Their teacher scrambled out behind them, distress pinching her face. Nathania just looked sad.

  A big boy with bad acne, affecting the bored indifference of an indulged child, leaned against the hood. His buddies fanned a half circle around him. “This is stupid,” the kid said loudly.

  Michael walked quickly toward them. At that moment Faith came out of Octagon Three. She caught his eye and shook her head. I can handle this. Michael paused, waiting.

  “Tyson,” she called. Alpha Man, ominous dark shades and breeze hat hiding his eyes, was immediately at her side. Michael smiled. Faith and Tyson were well able to handle the situation. Still, he wondered what was going on with the youngsters.

  Nathania filled them in that night. “I had quite a day with those children,” she rolled her eyes. Nathania went on to tell that the same teacher had brought a class last spring and everybody had a great time. This year she had arrang
ed for her fifteen-year-olds to camp out for three days at nearby Coral Pink Sands north of Kanab to study stream biology and archaeology, and to work with the animals at Best Friends.

  “The boys right off copped an attitude,” Nathania said. “The ringleader—you saw him, Michael—swaggering kid, made these belligerent remarks everywhere we went. First words out of his mouth as he got off the bus were, ‘what a bunch of losers, taking care of animals.’ ”

  Nathania refused to let the youth rile her. At Feathered Friends, Sharon similarly ignored the rude comments about her birds. “Pigeons!” the juvenile hooted. “We’ve come all this way to hear about pigeons.”

  Things didn’t improve at the Bunny House. Chandra was relating the story of how Tony, the dwarf rabbit, used to live in a bucket. “When he came here, Tony only knew how to protect himself by biting all the other bunnies, so he had to live alone.”

  The ringleader kicked the nearest stall impatiently. “Stop that right now,” the teacher warned. The boy made a rude face behind her back, to the smirking approval of his mates.

  Chandra continued unperturbed. “Until Tiger Lily,” she said, leading the way to the end of the building, where an enormous, twenty-pound orange-and-white rabbit nibbled cheek to jowl with her lilliputian friend. “Tiger Lily and Tony hit it off right away. We have a lot of creatures who’ve bonded for life in the sanctuary, so don’t let anyone ever tell you animals don’t have feelings.”

  “Oh look,” a boy exclaimed excitedly. “She’s cleaning him.” He caught a scowl from his bigger buddy and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his low-slung jeans. “Big deal.”

  Judah Nasr would have none of it at Benton’s House. The young man was giving Tomato his medicine when Nathania brought in the teenagers. The kid was smart enough to mutter, but Judah still heard the cruel remarks about the ugly white cats that should be put out of their misery. He put Tomato on his desk and, deadly calm, stood toe to toe with the adolescent. The boy quickly backed off. Judah didn’t raise his voice. “Don’t you ever denigrate an animal on this property again.”

  “What does denigrate mean?” the bully tried to brazen.

  Nathania had never encountered such an insensitive group. Where was the usual happy enthusiasm? She wondered if it was a big joke to these kids to see how miserable they could make the trip. She was glad Dogtown was the last stop.

  “Faith was great,” Nathania giggled. “She sized up the scene without me saying a word.” Faith, she said, disarmingly complained that she needed to go on a feeding-bowl hunt. Amra, the Sheriff, had developed a little quirk of stealing any container not picked up within the hour. “Would you help me search for Amra’s stash?” she asked.

  Stony silence. “Then we need to put you to work, don’t we? Okay, you, you, you, and you,” Faith separated half the group. “You’ll walk dogs with Tyson. I suggest you pay attention because Tyson only likes the difficult ones. Don’t you, Tyson?”

  “I like them best if they’re biters,” Tyson snarled, getting into Faith’s game. The teacher would escort another group, which left the ringleader sulking by himself.

  Nathania knew exactly why Faith had separated the troublemaker from his buddies. With no one around to impress with his toughness, the boy might allow a kinder side of himself to show.

  Faith gave the cocky adolescent a once-over. She winked at Nathania and led the boy to the sprawling mass of ancient canines snoozing in the sun. “I have just the dog for you.”

  Maddie immediately awoke as they came near and rushed to her Big Mama. “Not today, sweetheart,” Faith soothed. She bent to scratch the ear of a big white Samoyed. “Sam will do nicely.”

  “He’s old,” the boy objected.

  “So will you be one day,” Nathania retorted.

  Faith smiled. “Seems to me you need to chill, kid. You’re walking Sam. And Nathania and I will be keeping an eye on you.”

  “Perfect,” Nathania murmured as the kid shuffled off behind an arthritic Sam. The rheumy-eyed Samoyed might make his way with the speed of a giant turtle, but his courage and determination to enjoy his walks in spite of his ailments could give even the most belligerent delinquent pause to think.

  The teacher and her charges returned within the hour, Tyson and his group soon after. But there was no sight of the bully. Tyson loped off to return with the report that the kid was merely taking his time. Nathania decreed that everyone should go to The Village, where cold drinks were waiting.

  Another hour passed before the troublemaker and the Samoyed ambled back into Dogtown. “Can I feed Sam?” the boy surprised them.

  His whole demeanor had changed. He stood respectfully straight, no slouching. Nathania could detect no derision in the eyes.

  “Follow me,” Faith said.

  “Thank you,” the youth said politely. “That dog’s way cool.”

  The teacher called Nathania later that evening, first to apologize, then to relate how the kids had described their tour.

  “The child who walked the white Samoyed,” she said. “He’s always given me trouble, and I was ready to wring his neck this time, but he surprised me. When I asked the boys how they felt about the day, as usual nobody wanted to say anything in front of their ringleader.

  “Then he stood up and very thoughtfully, not in his usual bellicose manner, said he’d thought working with animals was stupid and unimportant . . . until he walked Sam this afternoon. Then he sat down and glared at everybody as if daring them to make fun of his confession. And that was it. He wasn’t about to give any explanation.”

  The teacher laughed. “There was dead silence for a moment. You should seen the look of shock on those kids’ faces. Then one of the other boys tentatively offered that he’d really liked the rabbits and birds.” The woman paused. “They all asked how soon they could come back.”

  Nathania smiled. Neither she nor anyone listening needed to probe for reasons. They had seen the healing effects of the animals and the canyon many times before.

  They would see it again.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  Oscar Heginbotham

  Spring came early in 1997, with a warmer-than-usual March promising an endless summer. For Best Friends, the flow of visitors from home and abroad had already begun. Word of the sanctuary had spread far beyond the confines of the United States, and now they welcomed company from Norway to India, from Japan to Peru. So for someone to come from Saudi Arabia would not be out of the question. But for a couple to want to ship a cat from Dhahran to Best Friends was a little out of the ordinary.

  Estelle took the call and immediately paged Diana at Catland. “A Bonnie Heginbotham is on the phone from Saudi Arabia to see if we can take her cat, Oscar. I gather it’s an unusual situation.”

  “Put her through,” Diana urged. She waited a second for the familiar click that told her the transatlantic caller was on her extension. “Hello, Bonnie. I’m Diana Asher, in charge of cats. What can I do for you?”

  “I don’t know quite where to start,” Bonnie answered.

  “From the beginning if you like,” Diana said.

  “It’s rather a long story.”

  “I have time.”

  The relief in Bonnie’s voice was palpable. “Thank you,” she said. “It will be good to talk to somebody about this. Would you mind if I give you a little background? I’m a Delta Airlines flight attendant, but I took a five-year leave of absence to be with my husband in Dharhan—Ron is with Saudi-Aramco, Arabian American Oil Company.” As Diana listened, Bonnie wove a tale about a cat named Oscar, as poignant as any told by Scheherezade.

  Ron Heginbotham had gone on ahead of his wife to the Middle East. Bonnie would be bringing Walter, their beloved sheltie, and Ron wanted to find a house with a fenced yard on a quiet street for their pet.

  Dhahran, the oil company’s headquarters, was a beautiful gated compound, a world unto itself that enclosed an area about the size of a small resort town. Inside its ten-mile perimeter, Saudi-Aramco employees could enj
oy restaurants, a commissary, library, movie theater, swimming pool, and children’s play areas—all the comforts of home.

  Within the compound, Saudi-Aramco also provided its people with accommodations of every style and size, from palatial sand-colored villas to apartments for the single staff.

  Ron found a cozy two-bedroom duplex on Lemon Lane that had stood empty since its former tenants, an Englishwoman and her American husband, had moved out six months before. The minute he saw it, Ron knew Bonnie would love the place. His wife’s passion was gardening, and the backyard was a riot of vegetation, redolent with the scents of frangipani, jasmine, and lilies, and bright with hibiscus and bougainvillea. He arranged to rent furniture until the Heginbothams’ own household goods were shipped from America, and by December of 1994 everything was ready for Bonnie’s arrival.

  Bonnie Heginbotham’s welcome, however, was not quite what she expected. “Oh, I love it, Ron. I just love it,” she exclaimed as she wandered through the big, airy rooms, mentally deciding where their French country furniture would fit. “But a coat of paint would really make it homey. Something butterscotch I think.”

  Ron smiled, but before he could respond to his wife’s enthusiasm the phone rang. “It’s for you,” he said, puzzled, and handed her the receiver.

  “I know you only got here a few hours ago, but do you have a minute?” the frightfully British voice asked. “I’m Jackie, your next-door neighbor, and I noticed you brought your dog over.”

  “Yes,” said Bonnie carefully.

  “Oh, no problem. It’s about Oscar, you see. Oh dear, I should explain myself.” Jackie paused as if Bonnie should understand. “Oscar is Amanda’s cat. She used to live in your house.”