Best Friends (6 page)

T
here were good days and bad days, and sometimes they both came on the same day.

When Mary Cram arrived at the bunkhouse with a fresh-baked apple pie, it was a good day. No explanation was given, but the gesture broke the ice, and the men were pleased to have a nod of recognition and an exchange of pleasantries with Norm Cram when they passed his wooden house.

It was both good and bad in the summer of 1984 when the rains came—sudden downpours that in seconds turned their dusty dirt roads into ankle-deep mud slides. The benign river that meandered slowly through the meadows below was suddenly a raging torrent of water that reminded them all too clearly of how the canyon was created. It was no wonder the descendants of the Kanab oldtimers still told the tale of the great flood of the 1890s.

But of more immediate concern to the men in Angel Canyon was the deluge of saturated red earth that threatened to inundate their new home. They scrambled like ants to shove logs up-slope from the bunkhouse to stop the slow ooze, toiling two precious weeks to build a retaining wall. They spent more valuable hours laying two-by-fours on the paths to the county road so that their trucks wouldn't sink, hopelessly mired until the rains ceased.

But the rains taught them to build their future Catland and Dogtown on the highest ground of the mesa, well out of the path of flash floods, as well as giving a brief but gave blessed relief from the summer's heat.

When Steven Hirano was reunited with his first love, it was very good. “I received a letter from Mariko,” he confided.

Michael was surprised. Mariko had been Steven's childhood sweetheart, but she married another when Steven went to London. He hadn't mentioned her in years.

“She's divorced,” Steven continued. “I'm going to Los Angeles to see her over New Year's.”

Mariko came to Kanab the spring of 1985. By the time the last of the potatoes were dug, the canyon's first wedding was planned. It would be at the newly christened Angels Landing, the spectacular amphitheater to which Francis had first taken Faith and Michael three years before.

The ceremony was Buddhist, the vows simple. Mariko was radiant in white chiffon, and parents from both families snapped many photos to remind them of the day. Mariko's loving energy was embraced by all. Steven smiled more; he seemed lighter somehow.

By the fall of 1985, they were ready to begin construction on the sanctuary's headquarters. The Village was Paul Eckhoff's first chance to show his genius as an architect. He designed a sparkling white Spanish-style structure with a central meeting room, offices, and two wings of living accommodations. For this major project, Paul hired a contractor from town, but Steven Hirano would be the supervisor on the job.

On this fateful morning, fourteen-foot beams were painstakingly erected in place, framing a panoramic view of the red-rock gorge and endless mesas so loved by all.

The men stood, quietly proud. The air was still, without a whisper of a breeze. Suddenly, as if from nowhere, a wind ripped, hard. The builders watched helplessly as the wall leaned, shuddered once, and slowly tumbled away down the hill.

“Oh, Steven,” Mariko comforted.

But Steven and the rest had already collapsed with laughter.

 

Word of the sanctuary in the canyon was getting around. The trickle of animals was picking up momentum: litters of kittens; dogs dropped off with the repeated refrain, “We'll shoot them if you don't take them.” One day rangers from the Grand Canyon stopped by with a pup that had been dumped at the lodge. “It's part coyote,” they said. The little dog looked more like a chubby shepherd mix than a wild predator, but Michael named him Coyote—what else? So it was a good day when Diana Asher left Arizona and moved into the bunkhouse. There were just too many critters to care for while the men were busy building.

 

Everybody was happy when seventeen-year-old Judah Nasr came for a visit and decided to stay. Francis Battista's son had inherited his father's love of all creatures great and small, especially cats. He built his own dwelling, and became invaluable to Diana.

Faith's son David Maloney had naturally adopted her love for animals and the environment. The teenager shared his mother's passion for dogs, and loved nothing better than to hike in the wilderness. After spending the summer in Angel Canyon, he declared that, he too, would stay on the land.

Judah and David were the first of family and friends to make the trek to the sanctuary. People discovered that exploring the golden circle of National Parks—Zion, Grand Canyon, and Bryce Canyon—was somehow more satisfying when they could spend a few days scooping the poop, feeding, or just socializing with the animals.

 

Early one Saturday, the crunch of car tires and the infectious peal of a woman's laughter disturbed the breakfast rituals in the bunkhouse.

“That's got to be Jana and Raphael,” Virgil Barstad exclaimed, opening the door so the dogs could check out the visitors. The men smiled and followed their animals outside. A woman was bent over the passel of dogs that had gone wild in greeting her. Beside her a tall man, blond hair waving to his shoulders, smiled indulgently at the show.

“Hi, guys,” Jana called.

Jana and Raphael de Peyer had moved to Nevada earlier in the year from Atlanta, Georgia. Jana wanted badly to be closer to the fledgling sanctuary, but at the same time she and her husband needed a place to continue their photography business. Las Vegas was the logical choice.

Jana had an idea for the sanctuary this weekend. “Raphael and I brought our cameras with us,” she told Michael and Francis. “We thought we'd take photos of the adoptables and see if any of our contacts in Vegas might be interested. If we can find good homes, we'll take the animals back with us on our next trip.”

“Absolutely. That's a great idea,” Michael said.

“And you might as well tell me what supplies you need, Francis,” Jana continued. “Raphael and I can bring the stuff back on our next visit. By the way, we haven't checked in yet. Is there anywhere besides the Parry Lodge that's halfway decent to stay?”

Francis laughed. “There isn't much choice.”

The men walked out of the bunkhouse the next morning to see Jana on her knees, planting desert flowers. “You got up too soon,” she chided. “I wanted to surprise you.” She leaned back and studied her handiwork. “I picked them up at a roadside stand on the way here,” she said. “Makes the bunkhouse more livable—a bit of color, don't you think?”

Jana and Raphael took photos of the animals and went back to Las Vegas the next day. Two Sundays later, Jana had another surprise for the people of Angel Canyon. This time the men came outside to witness her staggering from her car under a huge flat of bedding plants. “Don't worry,” she laughed a sound akin to chimes in a breeze. “I got the flowers donated.”

The pink impatiens, yellow daisies, and sunflowers were not all Jana and Raphael had brought. “You tell them,” Raphael said to his wife as they sat around the Formica kitchen table after dinner.

Jana smiled broadly. “I was ‘tabling' at the airport and met Wayne Newton, Cher . . .” she began. Everyone smiled. They had all taken their turns sitting behind tables in front of supermarkets and similar locales to raise money for different charitable causes. But Jana explained that the Las Vegas airport was an awesome place. “So many winners.” Then a mischievous look crossed her face. She bent to rummage in the large carryall beside her.

Suddenly a small raccoon dressed in a black tuxedo and bedecked with gold necklaces popped his head above the table. “Hello,” said the cheeky puppet. “My name is Rocky Raccoon. What's yours?”

Jana's hand walked over to Paul Eckhoff and stuck the puppet's nose into the architect's shirt pocket. “Oh dear, nothing here, sorry.” The puppet moved on to Gregory Castle. “Ah ha!! I smell money. Now let's have a look, Mr. Castle.” Without further ado he pulled Gregory's wallet from his jeans and extracted three one-dollar bills. The disappointed slump of the puppet's body had everyone around the table crying with laughter.

“I don't know how you do that,” Diana said wiping the tears from her eyes.

“Well, I usually strike it a little richer than three dollars,” Jana giggled.

“Jana and Rocky have no shame,” her husband declared. “That raccoon has been known to pout until he gets a respectable sum.”

“With Rocky, people drop ten-dollar chips, fifty-dollar chips, and twenty-dollar bills.” Jana grinned at her husband. “Your turn.”

With the casualness of a rich uncle about to bestow a great fortune on a favored child, Raphael plucked a white envelope from his pocket and laid it on the table. “For the animals,” he said, smiling. The envelope contained a deposit slip for a few dollars short of $1,000.

“This is incredible,” Michael said. He and Francis both knew how the influx of animals had strained their budget to the maximum. Jana's contribution was a godsend.

“We cashed the chips and put the money in the Foundation's charitable account as soon as Jana came home,” Raphael said.

“This is truly incredible,” Michael repeated wonderingly.

Jana de Peyer blushed with pleasure. The friends had long ago set up a charitable foundation to be able to solicit funds for those causes dear to their hearts. Jana's “tabling” efforts had been mostly directed toward raising money for terminally ill children. Now she was doing it for the animals.

It was a good day when Jana and Raphael moved to Las Vegas.

 

The week before Thanksgiving, they received the great news that the Arizona ranch finally had a buyer. The up-front money was frustratingly small, but monthly payments would cover the mortgage on Angel Canyon, and Faith and the rest of the animals could at last move to Utah. It was celebration time.

Francis, however, was worried. “We're holding sixty animals and taking in more all the time. Faith has got to be bringing in close to a hundred. We can't keep caring for that many without a vet close by.”

Michael shared Francis's concern. They had gotten pretty good at taking care of any minor problems that might arise with the animals, but for anything more serious, there was no resident veterinarian in Kanab, and Francis had become increasingly frustrated with the erratic schedules of mobile vets who came to town maybe once a week. He and Diana had made the three-hour round trip to the nearest clinic so many times with a sick cat or dog, they could do it with their eyes closed nowadays.

Michael knew the constant anxiety and travel had to be taking its toll on their energies. He was also aware that their budget wouldn't stretch to building even a bare-bones facility, let alone hire a vet. Yet there was nothing anybody could do at the moment.

“We've got to get a veterinarian,” Francis fretted.

“I'll have a talk with the great conjurer in the sky,” Michael said, poker-faced.

Francis just glared.

T
he air had a tart bite that foretold early snow as Francis drove into Kanab the following Saturday. He wasn't in the best of moods. Francis still had the troublesome habit of trying to cram seventeen chores in a fourteen-hour day, and he was really pushing the envelope this week. Faith, Maia Astor, Anne Mejia, Jana, and Raphael were coming in for the holidays, and he had a million things to do before they arrived.

Busy as he was, Francis always made time to stop by and see Lorelei, the local animal groomer. Besides, she had some eye medicine for Monica, his cat. He just hoped she wasn't busy this afternoon. Francis parked in front of the now defunct White Pines Motel, whose rooms had been taken over by a variety of small businesses, and knocked on the corner room next to the florist.

“Door's open,” a parrot's raucous squawk informed him. In spite of himself, Francis smiled as he walked in. Lorelei was an animal person, and along with the talkative Yellow Nape, he'd have to say hello to the two large mutts that kept her company all day.

Lorelei's room was small and poorly lit, but well equipped with a spotless chrome table, towels, electric clippers, and all the accoutrements to make a house pet smell and look good.

“Make yourself useful. Make yourself useful,” the parrot ordered as two dogs burst out from under the table and threw themselves joyously upon Francis's chest.

“Down, down. And all of you be good,” Lorelei chided her menagerie. Francis thumped the two dogs on their rumps and they plopped to the floor, panting happily.

“How you doing today, Francis?” Lorelei wrinkled her nose as she smiled. She gestured to a slight young man leaning his elbows on her grooming table. “Do you two know each other?”

Francis's eyes traveled up from a pair of dirt-encrusted boots from which the left sole was coming apart, to torn Levis, a plaid shirt, and a friendly, tanned face under a shock of unruly, strawberry blond hair.

The young man straightened, stepped forward, and stuck out his hand. “Bill Christy.”

“Doctor
Bill Christy,” Lorelei said proudly.

Francis offered his hand and felt a surprisingly firm grip. “Francis Battista.”

The doctor nodded. “Kelvert Button's spoken of you.”

Francis wondered why the man who so loved his goat hadn't mentioned Dr. Christy. “New in town?” he asked.

“Just moved to Panguitch a couple of months ago. Came down to see some of my patients.”

Francis was puzzled. Why would a doctor come sixty-seven miles to make house calls. “Patients?”

“Cows, pigs, horses. I'm principally a large animal vet.”

Francis couldn't believe what he was hearing. A veterinarian who came to people's houses. Then he realized that the doctor had said his practice was farm animals. Still he had to ask. “Do you come to Kanab very often?”

“As often as I'm needed.”

Francis looked at him. “I don't suppose—I mean . . .”

“That I might be interested in having a look at your dogs and cats?” The veterinarian laughed at Francis's surprise. “You know how small this town is?” he said by way of explanation.

Francis joined in the laughter. “There are no secrets. But would you really consider coming out to our place?”

“He's the best vet,” Lorelei interrupted. “Just graduated from Colorado State. We love him around here.”

“Why haven't we met before?” Francis asked, exasperated.

“I hear that property of yours keeps you pretty busy, but I planned to come by sooner or later.” Dr. Christy dragged a cracked leather wallet from his jeans pocket, pulled a crumpled white card from a mess of receipts, and handed it to Francis. “Call me. I'd like to see your operation.”

“Call me. Call me,” the parrot mimicked.

Francis forgot Monica's eye medicine. If the police had been vigilant, he would surely have gotten a ticket for driving eighty miles an hour back to Angel Canyon. He couldn't wait to share the news. There was no way to know how soon he would be calling the good doctor.