“Damned coyotes.” Clifton Ellis followed the blood trail from the sheep shed with no hope of finding the stolen lamb. The ewe bleated, unconsoled. In a terrified frenzy, she’d trampled the lamb’s twin during the coyotes’ last visit. Now, she was alone within the flock.
"Lamb - 7" by A Roger Davies is licensed under CC BY 2.0
Loretta Lynn sniffed circles around the crime
scene, returned to the gathered flock, and pushed them forward to the shed’s
opening. Once all were inside, the distraught mother proving the most difficult
to wrangle, Loretta lay across the opening, head in paws, tail thumping
rhythmically.
Clifton set to work repairing the
shed door where the desperate thief (or thieves) gnawed just enough of the
rotted board to slip underneath and find dinner. He fitted the board into
place, using screws rather than nails, not wanting to upset the flock with unnecessary
noise. Door repaired (painting would have to wait until Spring) he mixed up
some Quickrete in a five-gallon bucket.
Loretta budged from her post only
when Clifton clicked his tongue with earnest and showed her that he was closing
the repaired door. Sheep safely inside munching hay, Clifton mended the
crumbled threshold as Loretta alternated between roles of supervisor and
sentinel.
The year had
proven difficult for everyone. The weather, the virus, the election…. Some
things, it seemed, were inescapable no matter how remotely one lived. Perhaps it
served as a reminder of our interdependence—small towns depend on cities, and
cities depend on industries, industries depend on trains and truck, and oil
companies. And everyone depends on farmers. Clifton lost sleep over the dumping
of fresh milk. Superstore shelves were hit or miss, or empty altogether, and
yet healthy crops were plowed over as schools and restaurants closed. He
watched the nightly news just like most everyone else—until, like most everyone
else, he couldn’t stand it any longer. Even Peter Jennings couldn’t have made
any of it sound good.
Elyse made the best of every
situation, freezing surplus eggs for the local food pantry; she, Megan, and the
girls canning every tomato, green bean, and kernel of corn. They donned aprons
and shower caps, played old Patsy Cline tunes, and sang off key sending Loretta
into the occasional wail. When the county fair was cancelled, Elyse donated her
prize-winning pies to the nursing homes hit so hard by the pandemic. They
couldn’t serve them to the residents, but the nurses and care staff enjoyed the
treat at break time. The girls stayed over several times a week, using a
hotspot at the kitchen table to complete their schoolwork. If it weren’t for
all the bad, Elyse reflected one evening, this was really pretty good. Pretty
good, indeed.
Lost lambs, eight in total, were
bad. Really bad. One trampled, five lost to the unrelenting coyotes, and two
stillborn. Clifton recalled his childhood when it wasn’t uncommon to find
wayward lambs frozen stiff--or nearly, in snowbanks. He and his sister would
rescue those that they could, warming and bottle feeding them back to health. A
lamb or two in the kitchen was never out of the question in the colder months.
It had been years since the Valley got a snow like that, and Loretta and the
sheep shed had kept the lambs and ewes safe from the cold and predators—until
this year. The local coyote bounty was up to $50, which encouraged a lot of
hunting with so many out of work. But for every coyote killed, a new litter
seemed to appear. If only sheep were as prolific. Several of the farmhands
suggested trapping, as if Clifton hadn’t already thought of that himself, but
he had Loretta to think of, and as smart as she was, he wouldn’t risk it.
Instead, he did let them hunt on the farm, although he always felt conflicted
about it. Farmers, he felt, were meant to nurture and protect. He found it
difficult to slaughter his own animals, even though his family depended on it.
Instead of hunting, he worked to be as proactive as possible. In this case, he
felt he’d failed his flock in neglecting to repair the rotted boards and
crumbled threshold. He prayed too.
Clifton Ellis respected all life,
coyotes included. It wasn’t an easy thing to accept or explain, but God had put
them there, long before the Ellis’ farm, and they needed food to survive too.
If only they were vegetarians he could discourage them with the surplus of
vegetables. There were the eggs, but so far the henhouse had remained secure,
good thing for the hens too. Perhaps the surplus of eggs—even into the darker
months—was their way of showing appreciation for their safety. Elyse spoiled
those birds—heated waterers, a heating pad in each nest, an endless supply of
meal worms, and the cleanest run anywhere to be found.
*
At 9 years old, Clifton begged his
father Clayton Ellis for a hog. “If I
raise it up, I can show it in the fair. I take good care of Duke, Daddy. Can’t
I buy a hog?”
The truth was, Clayton Ellis was
thrilled to buy his son a hog—his sister Stella had shown steers the past
couple of years and always entered her beautiful Lionhead rabbits—but Clayton
knew that the process would fair (no pun intended) differently for his son.
Years before, Duke’s parents—Whip and
Lula—lived on the Ellis’ farm. Whip, so called because he was lightning-quick
like the whip of his tail, went lame after being kicked by a steer. Lula
attended him with admirable devotion, but losing his speed seemed to break his
spirit too. He died in the early Spring, and Lula followed soon thereafter, of
a broken heart. Things happen on a farm. Stella cried, but she invested herself
in other endeavors. There were always plenty of animals to care for after all.
Clifton kept a respectful distance as Lula tended to Whip—often bringing him
bits of kibble when he wouldn’t leave their bed. But when Lula was left alone,
Clifton invested all that he could in saving Lula. Some nights, he slept by her
side in the dog bed, on the kitchen floor. There was nothing he could do, and
it nearly broke him too.
So, while it was indeed true,
Clifton had taken excellent care of his best friend Duke—faithfully feeding,
brushing, and even bathing him (which was rather pointless on a farm Stella
often pointed out), Duke was destined to live out his many days on the Ellis’
farm. Clayton knew that Clifton had not considered that this wouldn’t be true
of a 4-H show pig. Still, understanding that most lessons must be lived to be
learned, Clayton took his son to Buddy McGillis’ farm in late March where he
purchased a 7week old weaner pig Clifton named Augustus.
Clifton faithfully fed, brushed, and
bathed Augustus too, Duke by their side. For five months, the trio were
inseparable, except for when Clifton was at school. They walked first within
the fenced front yard, then ventured into the pastures, walking single file
along the cow paths. Augustus learned tricks, rolling over and stepping through
obstacle courses for marshmallows and corn puffs. By the fair in late August,
Augustus neared 300 pounds. Clifton didn’t fuss over his weight. He kept
Augustus clean and happy, and when it was time to go to the fairgrounds, Duke
happily rode along.
As it turns out, despite his
heftiness at 292 pounds, Augustus won Reserve-Grand Champion Hog—Stella noted
that perhaps it was a lean year for competition (pun intended). Her rabbits
were decorated with blue and purple Grand Prize ribbons, and her
steer—Max—purchased by the president of the bank and trust, brought a wonderful
return. But of course, as most predicted—Clayton, Stella, and the local 4-H
coordinator included, Clifton could not part with Augustus. Despite his best
attempts at composure, the little boy trembled as he approached his father.
“Daddy, I know what I’m supposed to
do, but if you’d only let me keep Augustus, I promise to take good care of him.
I’ll work really hard to keep him fed. You know you can trust me Daddy.” And it
was true. Clayton knew that the boy would care for the pig no matter the cost.
Sure, he knew the rules, but because this was his first year (and also his
last) the family was allowed to return home with their prize pig. The 4H coordinator
empathized with Clayton. A single dad and farmer too, he understood the bond
between child and animals. His daughter Elyse purchased one of Stella’s prized
rabbits. He also understood that for some, an animal’s value exceeded its price
at market.
Clayton couldn’t explain it—but
sometimes that’s just the way it was. Maybe it was because Clifton had been so
young when he lost his own mother. Maybe the instinct developed in him because
he willed his mother to live, even as she slipped away. But Stella had lost
their mother too—and at just a few years older than Clifton. No, Clayton
reckoned there was more to it. Clifton was who he was—a born nurturer and
protector—and Clayton Ellis knew enough to realize that that’s something
special. And so, Augustus lived a grand life on the Ellis’ farm into the early
years of Clifton and Elyse’s marriage.
*
“Hungry?”
“I could eat.”
“Well good, because I put on some
vegetable soup this morning when you went out. I thought that you’d be in by
now, but here, I’ve got a grilled cheese for you too.” Elyse scooted his chair
back at the enamel top kitchen table and placed a bowl of steaming soup and
sandwich on a paper plate neatly on the placemat. She pointed at a stack of
envelopes, “Mail came. I took the Christmas cards and left you the bills.” She
squeezed his shoulder, tidied the counter, and sat down beside him with a bowl
and sandwich of her own.
“Coyotes again. Took another lamb
last night.”
“Oh no! Poor thing!”
“Well, I’ve fixed ‘em now I think.
That door needed a new couple of boards—bottom had rotted out more than I
realized, and the concrete was crumbling. ‘Retta and I got it taken care of,
didn’t we girl?” He stroked her ears and broke off a toasted piece of cheese
from his sandwich. “Water must be coming straight down there off of the roof.
I’ll hang a chain in the Spring when I paint the new boards.”
“Well I just hope this will keep
them out for good. I guess they’d come after my girls too if the coop wasn’t as
tight as San Quentin.”
“San Quentin, huh?”
“Or Fort Knox. Take your pick.”
“What’s this?” He pulled a bill from
an envelope complete with plastic window and return with payment envelope,
folded neatly inside. Together, payment
ledger, adding machine, and bifocals in hand, Clifton and Elyse paid their
bills twice monthly. It was necessary to do it this way, paying farm specific
bills first of the month and personal bills at the 15th. This was a
bill from the gas company—farm specific. Clifton and Elyse filled up at
whatever station was cheapest in town. Sure, they could have used the farm
pump—it was gasoline and not diesel after all—but they preferred to keep things
separate. When Megan was in college, they did occasionally let her fill up to
make the two hour drive back to campus, but otherwise, the pump was for farm
use only. He flipped the page, and flipped it back.
Huh.”
“Soup good?”
“Soup—er!” She smacked his hand but
giggled. “I can’t make sense of this though.”
“What’s that—I mean, I know that that’s the gas bill, but what can’t you make sense of?” Elyse leaned over his shoulder.
“Well, it’s nearly $800 more than it should be…even running the harvester…This
can’t be right.”
“Well did the price per gallon go up?” She stood and deposited her empty bowl into the sink, running warm water to rinse it.
"It’s the same as what we pay at the pump. Twenty cents give or take, holidays, weekends, and all that, but not by $800. I’ll have to call this afternoon.”
“Well I could call if you need to go back out.”
“No, that’s alright. That soup and sandwich about did me in. I believe Loretta and I are due for a long Winter’s nap here shortly.”
“Well in that case, I’ll let you
make that call. I might head to town to mail the last of the Christmas cards.”
*
After a
short exchange with the gas company receptionist, after an even lengthier trip
through the automated phone directory, Clifton and the receptionist determined
that unfortunately, it was indeed his bill, and even more regretfully, it was
correct.
“I just don’t know how this could
be. If it were water, I’d say we had a leak, but if we had a gas leak of this
magnitude, I’d be afraid to light a match within miles of this place.”
“I’m really sorry, Mr. Ellis. You
are of course welcome to apply for our credit program.”
“No, you’ve been very helpful. That
won’t be necessary. Have a good day now.”
“And you too, Mr. Ellis. Happy
Holidays!”
“Thank you, Merry Christmas.”
As it turned out, Loretta enjoyed a
mighty fine fireside nap. Clifton did not. He was, as Clayton would say, fit to
be tied. He sat by the window as the sky darkened—not quite 5:00. Javier and
the other farmhands had left at noon as was often customary in the winter
months. The cattle and sheep were safely inside, troughs filled. The star atop
the big blue silo illuminated most of the barnyard and surrounding area,
including the sheep shed, hen house, and gas pump.
“Any luck?” Elyse hung her coat just
inside the mudroom and kicked off her loafers. “Feels good in here.” She sat on
the edge of the couch and propped her feet on the hearth.
“Define luck?”
“Oh my.”
“If it were a check, we would be lucky.”
“But it’s a bill. And it’s ours?”
“Every cent.”
“Well Cliff, what in the world?”
“Who knows, Elyse. They did say we
could apply for their credit program.”
“You’re kidding?”
“I am not.” He laughed in the ironic
way that Clifton Ellis did laugh. He rarely laughed except in instances, like
this one, in which the truth was so ridiculous what else could one do? “Merry
Christmas.”
*
The repaired door and concrete
seemed to do the trick. It was evident by the footprints in the snow, and
Loretta’s frequent whining in the night, that the coyotes hadn’t given up.
“They’re animals too. I reckon the
snow has made it harder for them to find food.”
“Well just as long as they stay away
from your livestock.” Clayton had pulled up as Clifton made his rounds,
ensuring that everyone was fed and secured.
Of course they were predators, but
he knew his son. There was no use trying to convince him. For Clifton, the
preservation of life on the farm meant taking whatever measures necessary to
keep everyone safe and secure. But unlike his father, Clifton didn’t consider
the use of shotguns, rifles, or snares. Clayton remembered a time when his son watched,
horrified, as he exploded a groundhog tunnel along the creek bank—unable to
convince his child that there were no animals inside at the time.
His son chose whatever nonlethal, and
ultimately time consuming, means necessary to deter the pests. After using live
traps for several years, Clifton finally admitted that relocating the varmints
miles away was as useless as flystrips in the rain. They came back. Time and
again. He became so acquainted with one who had nearly upended a hay shed, that
he nicknamed him “Rerun.” Clifton was under no delusion that groundhogs—or
whistle pigs as Elyse called them—weren’t dangerous. He knew the havoc they
wreaked on his equipment and livestock. The threat of a broken ankle
ever-eminent wherever they made their homes. But Clifton understood that the
most dangerous animal of all was man himself.
“Everyone seems happy. See that ewe
there? She’s the one who lost both lambs.”
“Well it looks like that one’s
really taken to her.” He nodded to a small black lamb nuzzling her side.
“Yep, coyote got one of McGillis’
ewes, asked me if I wanted the little one. She took to him and him to her right
away.”
“Well, you’re lucky there. Isn’t
that something?”
The lucky one was the little lamb
himself. Sure, ewes took on other lambs from time to time, while others
abandoned their own, but moving a lamb from one farm to another just to try to
save it, that was rather uncommon…except for a farm like Clifton Ellis.’
“Son, I’ve been telling you for
years, you ought to just plow the fields, build more structures, and call
yourself a zoo.”
“The girls would get a kick out of
that, wouldn’t they?” He laughed and slapped his father on the shoulder, “Ha!
Thanks Pop! Maybe I should.”
He hadn’t planned to mention the gas
bill; it just hadn’t come to mind, that was, until Javi strolled up handling a
game camera.
“So you can take pictures of the
coyotes with that thing?” Clayton asked.
“Well, it’s for deer and such, but
we’ve been able to keep an eye on the coyote too, yes Sir. Now that it’s
snowed, we don’t really need this to keep an eye out.”
“Yeah, we can see exactly where they’re
going. Right to that door again. I installed a bolt lock at the bottom, just in
case they even tried to pry it open. Thanks, Javi.”
“Sure thing, Mr. Ellis.”
“Well I’d like to see.” Clayton considered.
“Sure thing, uh, Mr. Ellis,” Javi
responded to his employer’s father. “Mr. Ellis, may we use your computer?”
Not one for many words, computers,
or disappointing his father, Clifton agreed. It was actually Elyse's computer.
Clifton handed it to Javi who sat the opened laptop on the kitchen table and
turned it on. He carefully inserted the camera’s chip into the computer’s drive
and accessed the folder.
On the screen, illuminated by both
the silo’s star and eerie green night vision capability, two, then four, then
six eyes became visible. Some pictures captured all three coyotes. In some,
only the largest—presumably the Alpha male—was visible. Their destination was clear,
the sheep shed. One did seem to spend a bit of time at the corner of Elyse’s
hen house. Clifton made a note to check around just to be safe. As Javi advanced
the photos, Clifton took notice of something else. The gas pump.
As it turned out, the photos were
now looping back to earlier weeks. The coyotes appeared, but there were also
other interlopers on the Ellis’ farm. In one photo, a blurry light appears
behind the gas pump. In the next photo, a bicycle tire is clearly visible along
with a small figure wearing a black hoodie and jeans.
“El--ss!” Clifton called leaning his
head into his hands.
“Would you look at that?” Clayton
Ellis’ mouth fell open, obligating his son to tell the story of the mysterious
gas bill. Mysterious no longer, it seemed.
Elyse appeared her face reflecting
confusion and then disbelief as she stared at the computer screen. “What in
this world, Clifton?”
“Son, it appears that the coyotes
aren’t the only thieves around here.”
*
An hour later, Deputy Sheriff Mike
Johnson, who’d graduated with their son Scott, stood behind the three men
seated at the kitchen table.
“Mr. Ellis, I am so sorry that this
has happened. Please know that we will do everything in our power to bring
these delinquents to justice.”
“I appreciate it, Mike, but really,
I’d just like to know why.” Clifton spoke softly. He appeared more saddened
than angry. His body slunk into the chair as if the theft were personal.
Elyse offered, “Mike, what we’d
really like to understand is their reasoning. They don’t need gas for bicycles
after all. Honestly, I don’t know how they carried that much gas on bicycles.”
“Yes ma’am. Well when we find ‘em,
we will definitely be asking those questions.” Javi allowed Mike to take the
camera’s chip into evidence after saving the photos to the computer’s hard
drive as well. “Good day to you folks, and Merry Christmas, Mr. and Mrs. Ellis,
Mr. Ellis, Javi.”
Christmas Eve the girls surprised
their grandparents by asking to stay over. Santa could find them anywhere, and
the farm always felt like the most magical place on Earth—especially at
Christmas—and especially with even more fresh snow. They helped their
grandfather to feed and water the sheep—cuddling the healthy lambs before
heading inside to breakfast. Elyse always made a big fuss over
breakfast—especially when the girls stayed over. They were all crowded around
the computer, giggling and whispering when Clifton came in, rubbing the cold
from his hands.
“Smells good!” He smiled, and the
girls fell into giggles.
“What are you getting for Christmas
this year Pop?” Candace, the oldest twin asked.
“Well, I don’t expect I know. What do
you reckon I should ask for?”
“A pink flamingo!” Kennedy giggled.
Elyse interjected, “Time to eat!”
and shooed the girls back to their seats.
Minutes later, and bellies full, the
girls asked to see the photos of the coyotes their mother had told them about. Elyse
obliged while she and Clifton cleared the table and loaded the dishwasher.
“Hey, he’s in our class!” Candace
exclaimed.
“Who?” Her sister leaned in closer.
“Yeah, that’s Sticky Thomas! And look, there’s his sister, and there’s his
brother—Icky!”
“What are you girls on about?” Elyse
asked over her shoulder.
“These kids. They go to our school.
When were they here?”
“What kids?” Elyse asked as she
stood from the dishwasher and caught Clifton’s hand. “The kids!”
“Yeah, that one is Sticky, and his brother’s
Icky,” Kennedy explained.
“Well surely those aren’t their real
names, and look, that’s a girl,” Elyse pointed.
“Yeah, she’s Ginny. Those are just
the names kids at school call them, but I think their real names are Scott and
Ian.”
“Scott,” Clifton whispered softly,
his own son’s name. The girls were infants when their uncle was killed in
action.
“What are they doing?” Candace asked
looking to her Pop for answers he didn’t yet have.
“I wish I knew,” he replied.
*
While the girls globbed frosting over
store bought Gingerbread House kits, Clifton and Elyse decided that despite the
cost, the $800 crime could wait until after Christmas. They didn’t know the
reason behind it, but they knew these were children, and no good could come out
of ruining a child’s Christmas—even if the child—or children—deserved to be on
the naughty list.
The family played board games late
into the night. Clifton’s daughter Megan and her husband Jack stayed until
almost midnight, when they insisted they must get home before Santa arrived at
either house.
In the morning, the girls found that
Santa had indeed known exactly where to leave their gifts. They’d just finished
unwrapping when their parents returned.
The girls leapt to their feet and
ran to the window giggling and squealing with excitement. “It’s here!” They
laughed.
“What in the world?” Clifton watched
with curiosity as his grandchildren abandoned brand new toys and bounced on
their toes, staring out the window.
“Cliff, why don’t you come outside
for a minute to see if Megan and Jack need some help?”
“Well alright, but I don’t think we
all need to go.”
“No, I think we do,” Elyse answered
with a wink to the girls who bolted through the door.
Just as Clifton stepped off the
front porch, the snow’s glare diminished just enough for him to see exactly
what all the commotion was about.
“Surprise!” There, between his
granddaughters stood a gray and black donkey pulling against reigns Megan held
between gloved hands.
“This should keep the coyotes away
for good, Daddy!” Megan explained.
Overcome with surprise and emotion, Clifton laughed, “Yep. Yep, he will definitely do the trick!”
“She, Cliff, she will do the trick,” Elyse laughed.
“I do pardon, Ma’am,” Clifton said
to the donkey and he rubbed her cheek. She, in turn, nuzzled his, leaving a
streak of slobber along his coat collar. “Miss…”
“Claudine. Or Claudia—if you prefer.
She’s from a rescue near Richmond. We found her on the Internet and had to hide
her at the McGillis’ the last couple of days.”
“She’s a jewel!” Clifton laughed
heartily. “She is a jewel.”
*
The day after Christmas, Claudine
happily settled into her new home and herd, the girls back with their parents,
and most of the Christmas remnants cleared away, Clifton called the Sheriff’s
Office.
Mike knew of the Thomas children—in total there were 5—the three caught on
camera were the middle three. Another, fifteen, moved out to live with a
friend’s family who had taken her in; the youngest was only a toddler. Dad was
presently in jail, mom was in and out, leaving the kids to mostly fend for
themselves. Mike agreed to pay a visit to the home.
*
“Mr. Ellis, I’m not making excuses,
but it’s a real sad situation over there. Drugs and all that mess. Those kids—and
social services really won’t get involved unless both parents are locked up at
the same time.”
“I understand, Mike.”
“Still, something’s got to be done.
They stole from you, Mr. Ellis.”
“But did they say why? Or how they
even knew we had a gas pump?” Elyse asked.
“They saw it a few years ago when
they visited to see your star. They remembered riding the hay wagon, having hot
chocolate, and all that bit…which is why I couldn’t understand why they’d even think
of stealing from you. The oldest of them—well, the oldest of the three
anyway—Scotty—he said that he knew it would be safe to come here. Said he knew
Mr. Ellis wouldn’t shoot him.”
“Oh my…” Elyse clutched her chest.
“But why do kids that age need gasoline?”
“A generator. Would you believe it?
Their electricity was turned off back in October. They did without it until it
got so cold they worried that the baby sister would freeze to death. They had
this gas powered generator, and they ran it on the coldest nights to keep her
safe. Mom is sometimes in bed for days at a time, and when she’s up, she’s not
much help. They’ve been riding the same bicycles to school to pick up and drop
off packets of work. Sometimes Ms. Williams lets them sneak in to shower at the
middle school if no one else is around.
“But Mr. and Mrs. Ellis, the truth
is, they’ll never be able to pay you back. They didn’t even realize that you had to pay for the gas. They kind of
just thought it was like a water pump that you were lucky enough to have.”
“Lucky enough to have,” Clifton
laughed to himself. He laughed at the irony, but he laughed at the truth of it
too. Lucky, indeed. In a year like no other he could remember, not even the
year when they lost their precious son, he was reminded more often than not
that he was indeed just that—incredibly, undeservingly, lucky. $800 is a lot of
money, especially in a year of wasted crops and lost lambs, but Clifton knew
the truth—lost lambs were far more valuable than any monetary sum.
“Suppose we worked something out?”
Clifton offered, looking to Elyse for agreement. She nodded.
“I’m sure we can arrange something,
Mr. Ellis.”
*
Week old lambs, wobbling on brand
new legs, blinked against the bright April sunlight. Claudine, braying, led the
flock into the pasture, and Loretta Lynn brought up the rear. Three bicycles
leaned against the old gas pump.
“Zookeepers are here,” Clifton
laughed and slapped his father's shoulder.
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