The Bequest

When we first drove up, I loved that there were chickens scratching around in the front yard. They really add to the whole country feel.

I am not, however, enamored of the chicken poop I just stepped in on our front porch. I stumble backward and bump into the black and white dog. I nearly land on my butt.

"Roscoe? Is that your name?" His head bobs, which must be a coincidence. "Can you keep the chickens off this porch? Their poop is disgusting."

He sits down and tilts his head.

I point at the chickens and I swear he follows my finger. "No-no chickens here." I point at the porch. I sound like a crazy person. There's no way a dog is more likely to understand if I talk to him like a toddler or someone with broken English. I do pat his head. He leans into my hand, so I scratch his ears.

When my phone rings, he brings his ears forward. He looks like a completely different dog when his ears are up. He's actually really pretty. "Hello?"

"Morning." Miraculously, Heather's voice is clear and crisp through my cell phone speaker.

"We may have a problem," I say. "I don't see a package anywhere. Are you sure it shows that it was delivered?"

"That's what my tracking shows," Heather says. "It's pretty large. It weighs more than thirty pounds. I sent another one today that should be there by Friday. The fact that the first one isn't there worries me."

Me too, because I want to get my photos done and get out of here. "Alright, well, I'll talk to the ranch hands and see if there's somewhere else it might be."

Heather's saying something, but her voice is so distorted that all I can make out is, "...until then...having... beautiful."

Gah! Why does the cell reception suck so badly? I hang up and text her. It takes three tries for it to even go through. It took me almost an hour last night to post the image I snapped of the farmhouse. I haven't even been able to see how the engagement has been.

When I come around the corner, Emery and Whitney are giggling while playing with baby goats.

In the mud.

I'm happy that Em is getting some cousin time, but her designer shoes are absolutely ruined.

A dozen or so choice words come to mind, but it's not like I can change things now. And I got the shoes for free, since they're a brand I push. I force myself to breathe in and out, and then I have an idea. Isn't this why I'm here?

I snap a half dozen photos of the girls before they notice I'm there.

"Hey, Mom! Look at this one! Kevin and Jeff said only the mom has a name Bonkers, which doesn't seem very nice but the good news is, that means we can name the rest!"

If I hadn't already calmed down, this would have helped. Emery so seldom seems truly happy. "Wonderful. What did you name the little chocolate brown one?"

"I named him Hershey," Emery says.

Perfect name, actually. I expected something terrible, like chocolate chip or brownie.

"This one's Spot-I named him." Whitney points at the white baby with a big brown blotch over his left eye. They both have floppy ears and dopey looking faces. I'm not really someone who loves animals or mud, but even I can't help smiling. "I took some cute photos," I say.

Emery immediately looks down at her Gucci Screener sneakers. "Um, about the shoes, I'm going to clean them off, I promise."

There isn't enough soap in the world to fix them, but I don't bother pointing that out. "I'm sure you will," I say. "Now where was the place the guys said had decent reception?"

They point to a hill that looks like it's nearly a mile away. I don't manage to suppress my groan.

"I can drive you over." Jeff's coming out of the big red barn on a two-seat four-wheeler that has a big bed in the back. He stops it near the entrance and unloads a large shovel and some other muddy stuff.

I hope the seat is cleaner than the rest of it. "That would be great, thanks." I start walking toward him, Roscoe trotting alongside me, but he drives to my side before I've gone very far.

"I'm sorry about the internet," Jeff says. "I know the rest of the world kind of needs it. Jed wasn't ever too worried about that kind of thing." He pats the seat.

When I climb up next to him, Roscoe hops into the now-empty back bed and lies down.

"Whoa," Jeff says. "That's new."

"Is he not allowed back there?" I turn around and shake my head. "No, no."

Roscoe hops out, but he looks mournful.

"Aw, I feel bad."

"Oh, he's allowed into the back," Jeff says. "He always rode along behind Jed."

"He did?"

"Since he died, he hasn't left the front porch except to eat a bite or two of food and drink a cup of water."

"This is good, then?" I pat the empty bed again. "Here, boy. Come along."

Roscoe hops right back up.

"It's really good," Jeff says. "I think he really likes you."

Pets never like me. Or maybe it's that I don't like them much and they can sense it. "Weird."

"Very." Jeff turns around to pat Roscoe's head and he shifts away from him.

"Is he aggressive?"

Jeff shakes his head. "Only to things that might attack the chickens. Skunks, weasels, raccoons. That kind of thing."

Huh. "Oh, I almost forgot. There was supposed to have been a package delivered for me. Tracking shows it arrived."

"You didn't see it on the porch?" Jeff frowns. "That's usually where packages get dropped."

I shake my head. "Nothing but a rocking bench and chicken poop."

He laughs. "No shortage of chicken poop. Make sure the girls don't ever feed them on or near the porch or it will get way worse."

I'll definitely warn them against that. "Do we need to feed the chickens?" I hadn't even thought about it.

"Kevin and I do most everything," he says. "But I'll be sure to show you how we feed and water them. We also get way more eggs than the two of us can eat. If your kids want to be more involved, they might like gathering them." Fresh eggs? There might be a photo opportunity there, as long as I can keep poop out of it. "I'd like that. Thanks."

"About the package." He sighs. "It's possible it wound up one house over. Sometimes our postal lady don't see too good. Your name's Amanda, right?"

I nod.

"The woman who lives up the road at the top of the hill is named Amanda Saddler. Pauline might have just seen Amanda and not paid attention to the numbers."

Wonderful. "How would I go about retrieving it, if it was misdelivered?"

Jeff tilts his head, clearly doubting my intelligence. "Just drive up and knock."

Right.

"We're here." He points. "I'll be clearing branches in the far pasture, but if you're still here when I get back, I'll be happy to pick you up."

Clearing branches? I don't even ask. "Thanks."

"Your nephew Ethan's a hard worker. He seems real excited to be here. I hope your girls have half as much fun as he is."

Me too.

As soon as I hop out, Roscoe does too, his tongue lolling. "Uh, I guess he'll stay here with me?"

"That's the darnedest thing," Jeff says.

The second his cart thing lurches away, I whip out my phone. Before I even allow myself to look at the last few posts I've made, I edit and upload the photo of Em with the goat. I tag #buytowear, #cowgirl, #countrylife, #goats, and #babygoat, along with #Gucci and #GucciScreeners. I don't owe them a post right now, but I hope it generates some attention anyway.

Being multi-dimensional is exhausting.