I fought against the mental image of Oso and the other dogs over Sheila’s body; it was too horrifying. Sheila had mothered Oso when I first got him. I flinched as I heard a thud and a crack outside. Nick must have dropped something over Sheila; rocks or bricks, maybe.
I tried to be rational: these were island dogs, and it wasn’t as if they’d killed her to eat her. She just happened to be available. But no matter how I tried to spin it for myself, at the end of the day, they ate their friend.
What an unsettling way to end our time on St. Marcos.
8 Be carried away by a thief.
~~~
Part Two: Northern Migration
~~~
Chapter Sixteen: It’s De Islans, Mon It’s De Islans, Mon
It came time to move to Houston, and Cowboy and his kennel, it turned out, were over the weight limit to fly on the only large commercial plane leaving the island. To Clark and Susanne’s horror, we started to search for a new island home for Cowboy. Our search was fruitless, though, and when it became clear that this was not going to be the solution, we put Cowboy on a diet.
Eric felt so bad about starving him that he put all six dogs on a diet, but that plan backfired. Cowboy ate as much as he wanted out of the other dogs’ bowls before he let them have any. He didn’t lose any weight, but all the rest of the dogs got a little gaunt. In addition to dieting and adoption, we looked into different transportation options. There weren’t many viable alternatives for either dogs or people, and those that we did find, like the private plane that would transport him to the mainland where he could hop a bus or train, were prohibitively expensive. Clark, Susanne, and I finally had to leave for Houston; Eric and Cowboy stayed on the island.
A few months later, it was time for Eric to leave, too. He called to tell us that while he was going to try his best, Cowboy was still too big to fly, although Karma would sail through baggage with no problems. Layla was already in the states with Marie. Little Bear had died when he was less than a year old, the victim of a second round of African bee stings, to which he was highly allergic. Callia had happily moved in with a good friend of ours. We had a contingency plan for Cowboy, if he couldn’t make it: he could continue guarding Annaly with Jake for the house sitters while we kept looking for an adoptive family.
The day before his departure, Eric visited the airport and certain key airport and airline officials. He toted a wallet full of hundred-dollar bills, and left those he visited more well-off than he found them. Hey, remember, it’s de islands, mon. People were shockingly more eager to transport Cowboy after that visit, but Eric still had to make it through the ticket agent and the baggage handlers the next day.
With his kennel, Cowboy weighed in at a whopping 135 pounds. The weight limit was 100. There was absolutely no pretending the scale was wrong, and it was unlikely that someone would conclude, “Oh, he’s close enough, just send him through!” Cowboy was thirty-five percent over the weight limit. Even a casual heft of the corner of his kennel made it obvious that there was way too much dog in there.
Eric brought his wallet to the ticket counter and set some of its contents on top of the kennel when it was placed on the
. Cowboy lost a few pounds in that transaction, Eric reclaimed his wallet, and Cowboy sailed through to baggage, “No problem, mon.”
But in the baggage area, things went awry.
“No way, mon, dis dog not weigh no hunner pounds!” Eric heard the baggage handler shout. “Dis not my jawb to lift he.”
In vain, Eric begged, pleaded, explained, and bribed. Not a single person was swayed by his description of his sobbing, brokenhearted children.
“Was de problem ovuh hee-yah?” another baggage handler inquired.
Eric turned towards a familiar voice and looked into the face of a schoolmate from his St. Dunstan’s days. Eric hailed him up, and they reminisced about old times for a few moments. Then Eric launched into the tale of woe with his old chum. And just like that, Cowboy made it onto the plane. When Eric told us the news, Clark actually cried.
Eric, Cowboy, and Karma arrived well after midnight that night in Houston. Cowboy did not seem to lose any weight on the trip, nor did he display an appropriate amount of gratitude to Eric. As a new stepdad, though, Eric had forever secured his place in the hearts of Cowboy’s fan club.
~~~
Chapter Seventeen: The Bird Man
Not everything our beloveds do makes sense. Hello, remember Eric’s frog obsession? And so it is that my husband has been a fan of the Arizona Cardinals for over forty years. How, one would rightly ask, could something like this happen to a young boy from the Virgin Islands? Some say he was born the patron saint of lost causes, but it’s actually much simpler than that: he was brainwashed.
Eric spent a lot of time in his earliest years with his Hungarian grandmother, who married an Italian named Cardinale. The family changed their name to Cardinal. They embraced their name and decorated their home with cardinals. Young Eric began his life-long obsession with football surrounded by cardinals, at the knee of a Cardinal. He turned on the TV and saw the Cardinals in their beautiful scarlet uniforms, and could have drawn no other conclusion than the one he did—the Cardinals were HIS team!
He has stood by them in bad times and in more bad times. He has borne ridicule most men could scarce endure. Through it all, he has held his head high. The highlight of 2006 was our trip to Phoenix for the National Petrochemical and Refiners Association’s annual meeting, because we got to go to Eric’s first home Cardinals game—in their new stadium, no less. They lost, of course, to the Kansas City Chiefs. One thing that we’re never at a loss for is what to give Eric for birthdays and Christmas. Our bedroom is even painted Cardinal red.
When we moved to Houston, we bought a house in a neighborhood with excellent public schools. Eric and I believe there is a hand guiding us in life, and it turned out that the mascot for our children’s new high school was none other than a cardinal.
Despite his lifelong obsession, Eric had never seen an actual live cardinal bird until we moved to Houston. Growing up in the U.S. Virgin Islands, he’d caught glimpses of them on TV, and he pictured them as red, fierce . . . and large.
One day while unpacking in our new house, I saw a male cardinal through the window. Nonchalantly, I called out to my sweetie, “Hey, Eric, there’s a cardinal in our bird feeder.”
Eric, whose physique looks like you would expect it to after twenty years of triathlon and cycling, pounded into the living room like a rhino instead of his usual cheetah self, wearing an expectant grin and not much else.
“WHERE IS IT?” he asked.
Lost for words, I pointed out our front window and prayed the elderly woman next door was not walking past our house.
“It’s awfully small.”
(That was Eric that said that, not the elderly neighbor.)
He was crestfallen. The mighty cardinal was a tiny slip of a bird.
But he stayed faithful, and to this day, the Cardinals are a big presence in our lives. As I look out the window into our front yard, I see the most beautiful (obnoxious) cardinal pinwheel in the flower bed, erected originally just to embarrass the kids. It worked great! It embarrassed me, too, and I’m sure it made the neighbors wildly jealous.
Ours is not to question why, ours is but to do or die.
Yes, cardinals.
~~~
Chapter Eighteen: The Ninjanator
Our we-moved-the-kids-away-from-paradise-guilt gift that first year in the states was a black mini lop-eared bunny. Because we didn’t have enough pets already, right?
The kids named him Ninja. Ninja used the litter box and walked on a leash. Well, that’s not totally true. He fought like a demon on a leash, but he did use the litter box when and how he felt like it, meaning he used it to launch litter all over the game room.
Ninja bonded with me while the kids were at school. He preferred females and was not crazy about Eric. What he preferred about females was their chests,
as in “a conveniently soft place in which to sink one’s razor-sharp bunny teeth.”
Between protecting Ninja from the dogs and cat and dabbing Neosporin on our bite marks, I started to question the rabbit-purchase decision. What was that old saying? Marry in haste and repent at leisure? Yeah. I think it applies to buying rabbits, too.
~~~
Chapter Nineteen: Homicide: 22 Unnamed Victims
AP Breaking News:
We are sad to report that twenty-two fish lost their lives to chlorine poisoning in a Houston backyard pond when a male resident of the household left water running into the pond. The bodies were discovered at about 2:00 p.m. by a traumatized resident, who first noticed something fishy when she saw a river rushing behind her bedroom’s glass doors and up onto the deck. She will remain anonymous out of concern for her personal safety.
Upon investigation, the witness discovered a lake had formed in the backyard behind the music room. When she sought the source of the flooding, she came upon the grisly sight of twenty-two koi and goldfish belly-up in the lowest of the three ponds, with water spilling over the sides of said pond. She turned the water off and made efforts to revive the fish, but those efforts proved unsuccessful.
Among the casualties were a black “googly-eyed” fish and a two fat calico fantail goldfish. Their bodies were removed with a cat litter scoop and respectfully disposed of in a plastic Kroger bag. A brief memorial service was conducted before the fish were solemnly laid to their final rest via deposit into the dumpster.
All household residents expressed shock, horror, and grief.
“Those fish grew up in our pond. They trusted us. They were part of our family. Did you know he killed one of our cats one time, too?” said Liz Hutchins.
“Huh, what fish?” asked Clark Jackson.
“Can we go to Petco on Saturday and get some more fish? How many can we get? How much can I spend? Can I bring a friend?” queried Susanne Jackson.
“I heard he emptied a black garbage bag of frogs into the bayou. I have to question what that was all about now,” exclaimed Pamela Hutchins. “And there goes this month’s water bill!”
Representatives for resident Eric Hutchins advised that he will be invoking his Fifth Amendment right to make no comment. They also wish to remind everyone that Eric was the hero that saved Cowboy.
Authorities stated that this is an ongoing investigation, but would not comment on whether the case of the dead cat has been reopened.
No charges have been filed at this time. Residents are advised to attend closely to their pets in the future, and to exercise caution when leaving them in the care of the adult male of the household.
~~~
Chapter Twenty: Family Killing Spree Continues
Check out the email that Eric the animal killer sent to our sensitive children about our beautiful family cat, Juliet. Here’s her picture in (slightly) better days:
Foreshadowing, though? Those are Eric’s hands around her throat.
Here’s Eric’s email:
——Original Message——
From: Eric
To: Susanne
Cc: Clark; Pamela; Liz
Subject: Ju Ju
Check out this picture of Juu Juu
We joke around about what a pain Juliet is, but we never really mean it. We all, especially Susanne, love our pets, and Eric sent this picture directly to her. This was a tragedy. I hope that someday they can all forgive Eric, and that Susanne will forgive me for marrying him. Or at least that they don’t sock us with the bill for therapy. Or turn out just like him. I was hoping nobody would call Child Protective Services or the Society for Prevention of Cruelty to Animals, when—
Wait a second. There's a noise coming from the living room.
Oops. False alarm! Here’s JuJu, unharmed.
Still, a sick joke to pull on the kids.
But then again, his sense of humor is what I love about him most. And, with therapy, the kids will recover.
~~~
Chapter Twenty-one: Jealousy
When Juliet went missing one day, Susanne was distraught. The rest of us? Well, we felt bad for Susanne. Juliet drives us a little bonkers.
Juliet is very jealous of Ninja, and that may be why she bolted. That or because Eric locked her in the downstairs bathroom overnight when Grandma visited. Maybe both.
Juliet is a beautiful cat, but a bit needy and emotionally erratic. We hope she found a lovely home with no rabbits or grandparents. Maybe Eric’s email to the kids was foreshadowing after all?
~~~
Chapter Twenty-two: The Ninjcompoop
Above: Ninja watching TV from underneath the coffee table
Ninja, AKA Buns of Steel, AKA Bunnicula the bloodsucking bunny, soon began to hang out under our coffee table and make dashes out around the living room and up and over furniture and people. He seemed to especially enjoy watching football and was really sad when the Jags and Cowboys lost. He was bummed there were no professional football teams named after his kind—the Hares, the Bunnies, the Rabbits, even the Bucks. He showed some partiality toward Tampa Bay Buccaneers—possibly because of the name?
~~~
Chapter Twenty-three: At least the dog feels great.
The preparations for Eric’s business trips to India are intense. He has to get his visa, work out “in-country”9 travel plans to several cities, make decisions about security, and go to the doctor for shots and prescription medications. One of the prescriptions he always gets is Cipro, a powerful antibiotic.
A few days before Eric left one time, Karma came down with what looked like a foot infection. Since our vet bills tend to be scandalous, Eric decided he would take matters into his own hands. He diligently researched the issue on the internet and learned that an appropriate dose of Cipro could treat the condition. (Kids, don’t try this at home.)
So he gave Karma the Cipro . . . or at least, what he thought was the Cipro. Actually, he accidentally gave her the anti-diarrheal medicine first. Her feet weren’t any better, but she did have really solid poop. Then he figured out the error and switched her to the real Cipro.
Off Eric went to India. His flight from Newark to Mumbai was sixteen hours long. About halfway through his flight, two of our three at-home kids came down with the flu. Eric happened to come down with it at the same time, somewhere over the Atlantic. He got to Mumbai at about ten p.m. and waited through long lines in immigration in a posture of near-death with no medications available, but then his kindly driver took him to get the Indian facsimile of Pepto-Bismol—called, I kid you not, VOMISTOP—and Theraflu. He finally arrived at his hotel nearly twenty-four hours after he started, and sick as a dog, so to speak.
Two long days of high-stakes meetings, travel by planes, trains, and automobile across India, and three sleepless nights later in Jamnagar, he finally got to visit a doctor. He was staying in a refinery compound of seven hundred houses and one large guest “house,” a giant spa-like structure with marble, fountains, a restaurant, a workout facility, and the coup d’état, a twenty-four-hour clinic with a real doctor. The doctor was free, the prescription cost only $1.99. The medication: Cipro.
I am pleased to report that both Eric and the dog recovered just fine.
9 Domestic transportation from one place to another while in the foreign country, India in this instance.
~~~
Chapter Twenty-four: The Prodigal Cat
When Juliet returned home after two weeks on the lam, Susanne was tearfully happy; the other four of us groaned. After her sabbatical in the wilderness of the Meyerland10 subdivision of Houston, Juliet was even more emotionally unbalanced than usual. She meowed constantly and refused to be alone in a room by herself—God forbid in the house by herself. If we tried to leave, she yowled and launched herself at us, hanging onto our clothes by every claw on all four feet. The first time she tried this with Eric, he met her midsection with the sole of his foot, so she pestered the rest of us more11 to make up for it. At least she was
willing to pay for this togetherness with affection; our newfound snuggle-kitty used to not let anyone hold her.
Ninja ignored her, and vice versa. It looked like we were back to being a five-mammalian-pet family. I’d count the non-mammals, too, but oops—all the fish are dead.
10 An area mostly populated by old Jewish people. Not exactly Wild Kingdom.
11 It could be that Eric’s popular demonstration of “spin the kitty” on her back on the tile floor also has something to do with her willingness to give him a wide berth.
~~~
Chapter Twenty-five: Urban Jungle
So maybe Meyerland wasn’t Wild Kingdom, but it wasn’t the animal-less concrete morass I had feared when we moved here. Not only because of our abundance of domestic animal life, either. There was wildlife as well. Our multi-ponded rainforest-esque backyard attracted wilderness refugees galore.
We had the frogs, of course, Lord help us we had the frogs. But it wasn’t just them. Our first summer we kept seeing turtles in the grass bayous that ran along South Rice, about where it turned into Rutherglenn12. We assisted one in relocating into our back yard. That didn’t last, because the turtle didn’t appreciate the loving attentions of Karma, Layla, and Cowboy. We also saw big nutria13 in the bayous, but I vetoed any attempts to relocate them.
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