07-15-2017, 04:58 AM
Sandey
chapter 1
by the
Resident Hyaena
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(An explanatory note, massively edited, expanded and updated from a much shorter one that originally appeared with the first part of this story at The Zoowriters Group in may 2001).
Hello there.
My online name is Resident Hyaena (a name that came about more by accident than design). I'm a zoo, most specifically, an Ornithophile, a lover of Birds.
For some time now, I've been working on a zoo short story (originally in response to a Zoo story writing competition at Silverwolf's original Zoowriters Group). As presented, prospective contestants were given a choice of four starting paragraphs, each describing an opening scene, with two aimed for Canines, and two, Equines.
I wrote back, and asked if a chosen intro could be adapted for a different species altogether, an Avian one?
He gave approval and the writing began. But then my rear drive assembly catastrophically failed, and I had to “camp out” for three weeks at one of the company properties, during which time, the contest ended. I did eventually post the beginnings in Silverwolf's Group, but never updated it.
Fast-forward to 2003. The competition is years over, the first versions of the Group are gone, and the story is still far from finished, with no progress since that first post. I sometimes thought of posting elsewhere what I had so far, but quickly dismissed such thoughts, as I am loth to present "works in progress" or other unfinished items.
But something then occurred to give me cause to reconsider. In the rudest way, I was reminded of the ephemeral nature of our existence, and how it can suddenly be brought to an unexpected or untimely end.
So I posted most of what I had done so far - the first chapter, minus the beginnings of the second - to the Pet Lovers Forum. Unfortunately, that site would be killed a few years later, with no further progress done on the story. And no leads on Silverwolf or any current version of the Zoowriters Group.
Then a couple of years ago, I found a "Scalie" site called Herpy which I soon joined. Being a rather serious site for literature and Avian-friendly, I was considering it as a place to post what had been done so far.
But then it was itself killed-off with no warning just a few months later!
I have also been a member of Beast Forum for the last three years or so, but their story & post restrictions, and their prevailing views on Ornithophily & associated activities, make it an uncertain venue for this story.
So I continued trying to seek out another "Avian tolerant" Zoo site, where I could post what I have done so far.
Then, just last week, quite by accident, I followed a link in the results for a Zeta symbol search, to a Reddit site called /r/zoophilia, which I had never heard of before, and found a reference to Silverwolf. Searching around, I found a link to a fourth version of his Zoowriter's Group, now called the Zoo Writers Guild!
As of this writing, I am on the fourth chapter, somewhat less than halfway through the story. I am once again faced with the immediate question of whether I should post what I have done so far or to hold-off.
Since the "backbone storyline" is already complete in my mind, and it is being "fleshed-out" and written down in chronological order, I think I will try a third option; to post it in one-chapter installments.
It should also provide an impetus to complete the story in a reasonably timely manner (I dearly hope so!).
The story section of this post will be the same first chapter that I posted at the first Zoowriters Group at the turn of the century, with some additional detail, grammatical & vocabulary changes, and other changes intended as improvements.
Some "qualifications":
As written and posted, it reflected a storyline set in the then-recent past, and ending at a time setting just a few years earlier than the original post.
A more-or-less contemporary, or very-recent-past story
But today, being around 16 years since then, the storyline is now set rather far into the past, in a time now distant or unfamiliar to a good number of current readers.
But there are real-world developments of that time, particularly near the end, which are important to certain critical story elements.
So I am keeping that time frame, unaltered.
Being set in the Cape Province, South Africa, a lot may seem odd to U.S. and some other English language readers. There are a few words, like "tyre" and "metre" that are not misspelled, but are the norm for the part of the world that the story is set in, as well as the U.K.
I'm sure there are other genuine misspellings though.
There's also the local slang and idioms, some shared or intuitive to the U.S & U.K., but much that is not.
And some that even varies within the region!
I am still trying to work out a decent balance or compromise between that and "conventional" English.
Also, one of the characters first appearing in the fourth chapter, speaks in a highly contracted & "maritime" fashion, and has something of a lisp. The unconventional writing of his dialog reflects that.
The punctuation is another story. I'm sure that much of it is excessively or improperly used, especially commas.
Any productive feedback would be greatly appreciated.
So here is the current version of the first chapter of "Sandey", plus a legal disclaimer. Again, the first paragraph is one of four provided as contest starters by Silverwolf, modified from Equine to Avian, with his approval.
This explanatory note last edited 14 July 2017 by Resident Hyaena.
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Disclaimer & Warning
This disclaimer, or an updated or "customized" version will precede all versions of this story, or any part thereof. It is NOT to be removed from the story, in full or in part.
It is not to be modified, except as may be needed or required by changing or clarifying laws.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, goods, events and incidents are the products of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, actual events, or other real-world analogues is purely coincidental, if not miraculous.
This story deals with currently controversial issues, such as zoophily, sexuality, friendship, loyalty, charity, brotherhood, reasoning, trust and love.
It also questions and/or dissuades many currently popular "values", such as anger, fear, ignorance, authoritarianism, violence, sectarianism, intolerance, blind obediance, dogma and hate
As such, it may not be suitable for some audiences.
Because it deals with sexuality and depicts sexual activities, it is NOT for minors or those underage as defined by the jurisdiction in which they reside, or by other legal authority which may apply.
Nor is it for anyone that may be offended by such material.
IMPORTANT, MUST READ!
If you are a minor or underage by ANY of the laws you are subject to, or if you are in ANY doubt, YOU MUST STOP READING BEFORE THE DOUBLE-DASHED LINE, and immediately return at least as far back as the last legally "safe" website you were at, or further back still.
You MUST NOT return, unless or until you are FULLY LEGALLY entitled to do so.
For all others with full legal right to view, the reader's discretion is strongly advised.
14 July 2017
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Sandey
by the
Resident Hyaena ^..^
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I sat silently on an old fieldstone wall, concealed by a centuries growth of green, watching the grey feathered forms gliding slowly past the trees a hundred metres away as they approached the lake.
I stood up, readied my wings, hunched down, and launched into flight. I headed to the clearing, and banked left for a straight shot to the lake, as I always did.
I found her there, and landed beside her. We spoke and preened and touched one another. And touched again. And again...
...As we always did.
Ever more my attention to her grew, and everything else faded into the background. Soon there was only us, lost in each other.
Then, she gave her cue, she was ready.
A foot gently placed, and we both quivered in anticipation. A quick hop, and I was upon her. Her tail brushed up under mine, and a tingling wave shot through to the very tip of my beak. My tail began twitching, and it built up, becoming stronger and stronger. My vent was itching and aching for what was forthcoming.
She was twitching hers, bringing it to one side, and twisting it vertical. I thrust down, and our undertails met. My twisting and twitching became harder and deeper as my puckered and bulging vent plowed and probed her warm crissal plumage, seeking its destination.
Deeper it went, and it found a parting. Then suddenly, that warm moist touch as it found her own hot and dilated entrance. As my now oozing mound settled in, she began drawing and kissing on it, as if to suck out all that it held back.
I gasped, and my twisting escalated to full crissal thrashing. Wave upon wave shot through us with every draw and thrust that we made upon each other. Other twitchings began, and we were in total abandon.
Then, she looked over her shoulder. And she gave me that knowing look, a look that seemed to burn through to my very core.
And then she opened her vent full, and sucked mine in with one long, hard draw.
I screamed in ecstasy as an incredible shock burst forth and echoed through me. A deep shudder, and I knew it was near.
I was swamped with sensations; the sounds all a roar, the sight all a glare, our bodies a writhing mass, the surging in my tail, the scream of my voice...
...And the clenching of my fingers?
FINGERS?!
I sprang up, and my hands were grasping the sheets in a death grip. I was drenched in hot sweat, and a surging had begun in my groin.
"NO!" I screamed, leaping from bed, hoping to get to the night stand, and some light.
Too late. The awakening had killed the visions and broken the spell. But the main urethral priming had begun, and the mechanics could not be stopped.
"DAMMIT!" I cried in despair, as I emptied my fluids onto the floor...
...As I always did.
I shuddered, but with neither ecstasy nor relief. It was in time with a choked and broken sound, the sound of sobbing.
Eventually, I reached over to the night stand, and gently picked up what only shortly before, I had been battling through the tangled sheets and flickering darkness to reach. I turned to the small table near the window, where the cold light of the building's half burnt-out sign flickered in.
How often I had sat there, gazing out through that paint-jammed third floor window, wondering how and why it had all gone so wrong. But now I clicked on the reading lamp, turned it up just enough to blot out the flickering intrusion, and laid down the object so I could see.
And through my now cold sweat, and my still flowing tears, I let out a long, deep sigh as I gazed upon the image of my lost love.
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It began so long ago, yet it often seems just like yesterday. We lived on our own ranch, out west from Stellenbosch, in The Winelands. We were winemakers, producing and selling mostly for the local market, and other parts of the Cape Province, as well as the tourist trade.
We made a decent Merlot and a very good Pinot Noir, as well as a non-alcoholic spiced apple-grape cider, uniquely our own.
We also farmed our own honey, and had a small herd of Holstein & Brown Swiss. From their milk, we made some very fine Edam and Gouda, We had numerous hives, which we farmed for honey and beeswax.
And when a waxed round of edam and gouda were bundled in a padded basket with a bottle each of our Pinot Noir & spiced apple-grape cider, a jar of our pure clover honey, a half-kilo rack of our whole-comb clover honey, a mini-cutting board & cheese knife, and six choice golden apples from our trees, the result was our "Springhaas Farms Holiday Pak", a popular item in some local shops & a tourist draw at our farm-stand, and always a sellout at easter, christmas, and in the tourist season.
And that & all our different smaller Paks and single items bore our unique logo, a Springhaas
leaping to the right over an "antiquated" scroll-ended ribbon, on which was emblazoned in Germanic letters, the Afrikaans "Springhaasplass".
It was a small but reliable income, and allowed for a reasonably comfortable and secure life.
It should have been great for a twelve year old kid, but it wasn't.
We didn't follow many of the "rules" of "proper" vintners, and so limited our markets and earned no respect from others in the business. My father was also very arrogant, short-tempered, and "off the level" in many of our business dealings, and it got us into all sorts of trouble.
I had no close friends, as most of my classmates were from "real vintner" families, and resented my family's "easy skimmings" at the perceived cost of their own "entitlement". My older brother Gerry got it bad from the other teens his age, but could hold his own. Then he graduated, and left for the Naval Academy, and those hairy humonguloids then turned their attentions to me.
The only friends of any real sort I had were Jan and Mark Van deKamp, a couple of older kids near Franschhoek, both brothers a year apart, Jan the senior, Mark the junior.
I rarely got to see them outside of school though, for they held weekend jobs, and after school, my family had farm stand and ranch work, right up to suppertime. Then, there would be the "indoor" work: the cutting & racking of the choice honeycomb, separating and processing the remainder into pure wax & honey, all the winemaking processes from pressing to corking, and the pressing & waxing of cheese rounds.
There was always work to be done.
Strangely though, my father would always tell mom and me to "get out and about" on Saturday, and after church on Sunday, which I hated with a passion.
But he would never go along unless he absolutely had to. Mom seemed to suspect that something was up, but would evade my questions. Sometimes I went shopping with her, but usually I went off alone on long rides on my bicycle.
One of my most difficult, but favourite runs was west to Table Mountain, grabbing a ride on the Metro for a good chunk of the way.
There I would search the woods and screes along the east side. I often dreamed of finding Kruger's Millions, or another Cullinan diamond amongst the loose scree and boulders. I found nothing of the sort, but I did find a spot not far from one of the ascent trails, where shooters would go to plink bottles and tins.
They left reefs of brass and lead, which I would gather up, sort & clean, and sell to the tinkers & melters for several Rand a tub, big money for me at that time, before inflation ate too much of it away.
But all too often, I found more than the bottles, tins, and tyres that had been lined up in the peeps and cross-hairs. They were the tragic remains of all manner of Animal that had committed the crime of just being there.
At first they made me "bark the dog", but I eventually learned how to stay upwind of the "sadder" specimens.
It was here that I would make the find that would permanently change my life. One Saturday, I had made an especially good haul, twenty Rand easy, and was going to a special stash spot behind a bush and between a pair of almost three-metre-tall boulders, where I would cache what I could not carry home that day.
I was lugging it in a 20 litre plastic tub, when I heard a strange scraping sound. I was startled, and a bit afraid, as the only things here that made such sounds were disturbed snakes or people trolling about with guns. The sound seemed to be coming from behind the two boulders.
I carefully set down the tub, and cautiously made my way around to the back of the boulders.
There, at the cleft where they touched, I found a large, coarsely feathered Bird, sprawled out on the ground. It was huge, and unlike any that I had seen close-up in real life.
It was as best as I could tell, some kind of Vulture. But despite its size, it seemed very young, and looked to be only just out of the nest. Its left wing was matted in sand & blood, and it stained the ground.
I knelt down for a closer look, and it turned and lifted its head to me, staring at me through deep, dark eyes.
It was still alive!
And as we stared into each other's eyes, something awoke in me; part pity, part anger, part fear, part caring, a mix of those and other disparate and contradictory feelings I had not quite felt before.
But it all added up to one thing, I HAD to try and save this Bird!
I ran back, stashed the tub of lead and brass, and returned with one of the two dark towels I kept there to camouflage my stashes. I shook it as clean as I could, and carefully scooped the Bird into it. I offered some water from my bottle, and I think he or she took some of it.
I made our way back to the bike, took off my bush vest, and used it to pad the large wicker fisherman's basket secured to the back. I settled the Bird, still in the towel, into it and latched the lid securely, leaving the hand-hole open.
The ride and Metro link back was the longest two hours ever.
"Boy", yelled my father "you made a big mistake, a REALLY big one!" He was angry as hell, but became even more angry when mom said that she called Dr. Robert Trede. "You WHAT?" he screamed. "Dammit, we're really in for it now! I should've wrung it as soon as William brought it in the door!".
I turned from him and hurried over to the front of the fireplace, where I had set the basket that still held the injured Bird, in the now unwrapped towel. My father took a step toward me, but mom took an even quicker step between us. He stopped, grumbled, went back, sat down, and took out yet another cigar.
He knew better than to cross mom when she became a "mother hen".
It wasn't too long before we heard a car pull up and stop. It was the Doc's Land Rover, and he and an assistant were getting things out of the back. Father went to get the front door when he saw that mom wasn't going to leave me or the Bird alone with him. They soon came up the walk, with the Doc carrying his field bag, and the assistant, Clive Ostler, carrying two canvas tote sacks.
"Thank you for calling" he said to mom, as he looked past father, "Where is the Bird?" he asked. "Right here" said mom. We all gathered around the basket, except father, who just stood near the far end of the sofa and puffed harder & faster on his cigar.
The Doctor reached in and lifted the Bird's head, so that he was looking at it straight-on. The Bird was awake and alert, but gave no resistance at all. He checked each side, then examined the one easily accessible leg. Strangely, the injured wing was the last thing he examined.
"Has she been removed from the basket at all?" he asked. "No" I said, "He's been in there since I started the ride back".
"Good!" he said, apparently pleased. He nodded to Clive, and Clive brought over a tray he had been preparing from the contents of the Doc's bag since we sat down. It contained swabs, pads, washes, ointments, implements, and other medical items. He and the Doc then went to work. They examined, cleaned, and dried the affected area.
The Doc took a lighted hand-magnifier, and with Clive holding the wing out, he used pointed tweezers to deftly pluck out almost a dozen lead shots, which he placed into a tiny bottle. They re-cleaned the extracted wounds, and then the Doc applied ointment from a small tube.
He gestured to Clive, who uncapped a large glass and metal syringe with a small needle. The Doc took it, and gave a rather large volume injection into the other wing. The Bird twitched when it went in, but otherwise made no fuss.
"She can make it" he said finally. I brightened up, thinking that everything would work out all right. But the Doc remained "offish" and unsmiling. "We have matters to discuss" he said to mom and father. "Clive, stay with master William here, I'm sure he would love to hear about your adventures".
They left for the reading room, but just before entering, the Doc in one smooth motion drew out a large manila folder from his waistcoat with one hand, while he plucked out & snuffed my father's cigar in an ashtray with his other hand.
The sight should have been hilarious, but nobody was laughing.
I didn't know Clive very well, except as a friend of Jan and Mark. With them, I had heard most of his stories before, and so paid what polite attention I could. But my ears strained to the room beyond, and my eyes drifted to the basket that held the now resting Bird.
I couldn't make out any real sentences, just a few words and phrases, such as "Cape Vulture", "threatened", "code violations", "tuberculin-free", "repeat offenses", "rehabilitation credits", and "authorization to negotiate", among other things, including mom's crying and father's curses.
I also heard my late grandfather's old roll-top desk opening up, and the shuffling of papers.
And all the while, my gaze fell ever more to that great fuzzy head with the big hooked beak, and I had now sidled up right next to it.
"You really care about that Bird, don't you?"
I had completely lost track of Clive, and was now startled back. "He's beautiful!" was all I could blurt out. "Doc says a "she", and he would know" he said. "Yes, she is VERY beautiful, and could grow up to be more beautiful still..."
It seemed that there was something unsaid, that the end of his statement was more a cutoff than a conclusion. "What do you mean?" I asked, suddenly worried, "what do you mean by "could grow up"?"
Clive was uneasy, he had apparently slipped about something. "I think the doctor should tell you" he said nervously, "he will tell you anyway".
"Tell me WHAT?!" I pleaded.
There was a muted rumble and a solid "clunk", the roll-top had been closed. Moments later the door opened and they came out, with mom looking hen-harried, father looking like when he got his latest traffic ticket, and the doctor looking grim.
I drew ever tighter to the basket.
"Son", my father said in a strangely hushed voice, "we've got a lot to talk about, and you are going to have to make some tough decisions here soon. But first, the Doctor wishes to speak with you alone".
"Listen to what he says, it's important to all of us".
He and mom then went back to the reading room, and closed the door.
The Doc nodded to Clive, and he got up and took the Doctor's bag and one of the tote sacks to the kitchen.
"Let's take a walk" the Doctor said to me, and I followed him out the door. We went down the path and out the front gate. It was late afternoon, the air had become gusty & taken on a chill, and the distant stormy clouds to the west cast an ominous backdrop.
"I know, many questions" he said. "I cannot answer them all, nor can I fully explain to you all the legal trouble this has, and will continue to cause".
"But here is the gist. You have "taken" a fledgling Cape Vulture, a seriously threatened Bird, and "delivered" it to a person, namely your father, who has been expressly FORBIDDEN to receive, transport, keep, or care for under ANY circumstances, ANY wildlife".
"The fact that she was rescued from mortal injury has no legal bearing, especially since signs for the rescue and ranger stations are amply posted along the route, a route you travel most every weekend, I hear".
I gulped, and said "yes".
"She cannot leave here" he said. "She must be quarantined on-site. Once she passed the gate, your family, your livestock, you, and her are all presumed to be "exposed" to one another".
"Your family makes and markets cheese, and can do so because your herd is certified tuberculin-free".
"Your vaccinations make you and your family safe from quarantine, but not your cattle. Despite their own vaccinations, it must be assumed that they have been exposed to tuberculosis, and pending test results, they will be quarantined, and they will lose their tuberculin-free certification".
"Your family, depending on fulfillment of negotiated terms, can continue to market their wine, cider, apples, honey, beeswax and comb. But unless or until the herd can be re-certified, a six-month process at best, you will no longer be allowed to market any of your cheeses, any hide or leather, or any other meat or dairy product".
My heart sank. "But we NEED our cheese!" I cried. "We depend on our Holiday Paks, and we cannot make them without the cheese rounds!"
"I know", said the doctor, "and I am more sorry than you can imagine. But as things currently stand, that's the way it is".
He fell silent, and I began to feel sick. "That is, as things CURRENTLY stand". he then added. "The assessment of the situation can be changed, and the permits and certifications of the herd can remain as is. But it will not be simple or easy, and it will come with significant costs for all involved".
"Your father has been, shall we say, "creative" with the rules, laws, and regulations covering this farm and it's operations, not to mention both his covert and open flaunting of the codes and bylaws of the Winemakers and Vintners Guild".
"It is no secret that there are many that would love nothing more than to exploit these facts to put Springhaas Farms out of business".
"But I have some well placed "influence", and so can be creative in my own way. This means that in a number of ways, I can help you, your family, and your farm".
"So, we have cut a deal. We can preserve things much as they are, in exchange for your father's promise and commitment to be less "creative". But for it to happen, the matter of the young Aasvoel must be resolved, and we have less than an hour to do so".
"How will you resolve it?" I asked, my voice choking with fear.
"I cannot, and won't," he replied, "YOU will!".
I stared at him agape, unable to speak. "You have two options". he said. “Option one: you will sign for and lease that plot that your father illegally squatted and annexed, the one with the seed shed. The lease will be one Rand per year, with this year's payment due today".
"You will clear out the shed with help, set in food, water, bedding & a heat lamp, and you will then carry the Bird in there ALONE. Your father will have it fenced off and top-meshed along a prescribed property line by the end of next week".
"You will be tested by Clive & myself, and be issued a temporary wildlife rescue & rehabilitation permit, limited to ONE Bird of Prey".
"You will be given a project book, a logbook, brochures, and a timetable for the next two days. You will also get a library list, a study package, and a voucher, good at any licensed abattoir for the meat items specified. You currently have a three-day supply".
"You will complete all tasks spelled out in your project book by the specified deadlines, and will be tested regularly. Your parents will have many obligations of their own to meet. When we get back in, we will discuss it more in detail, and finalize all of the agreements".
"You and your family MUST meet all goals and conditions, or the deal is off. I CANNOT change that".
“Option two” he sighed, "and this is the much simpler one. You can agree to me injecting her with an overdose of sodium thiopental, and she will quickly and painlessly "go to sleep". She will "not have been here", and the only responsibilities will be the cease & desist orders on your father, and the probationary terms he must agree to".
I looked away, frightened and confused. How could the simple rescue of a wounded Vulture so threaten the fate of a family? But for me, there could only be one choice.
"I want her to live!" I cried.
He just stood there, then turned away from me, and gazed off into the distance. He seemed to be straining to see something, or maybe remembering. "Have you ever cared for a wild Animal before?" he asked, still gazing out & away. "No, I haven't" I said.
"Have you ever had the OCCASION to care for one, or to rescue one?" he asked. "Well, eh," I stammered, "I think it was a year ago or so, and well, you see..."
"I think I do". he replied, still looking away. "A small Animal with a broken leg. I found a Dassie so wounded, after a boy on a bike stopped to look, but who then just rode off, and left it to whatever fate".
"It WAS a Dassie wasn't it, William?"
"Y-yes". I muttered, both shocked and ashamed that he should know what I had never told anyone.
"I didn't know!" I suddenly cried, vainly trying to explain myself, "I didn't understand!"
"How true" he said, "and how unfortunate". He fell silent again, still gazing into the darkening distance.
"So this time, you find an Aasvoel," he said, "and you put yourself, your family, and everything you care about at risk. You could have just let things be, as with the Dassie, yet you risked all, for of all creatures, a VULTURE!"
"Do you have any idea why you did this?"
"I don't know," I said "It looked at me, and I just got these... these "feelings".
"I just DON"T understand!".
"How true" he answered, "and how FORTUNATE!". He then turned around, with the most fleeting trace of a smile which immediately disappeared.
"But you WILL know!" he said. His voice had changed, and there was a strange look in his eyes. "You will know only TOO well!"
The change in him was dramatic. And terrifying! He had looked to me to be at least ten years younger than the fifty-three years he was supposed to be. Now he looked at least twenty years BEYOND his age!
"What do you mean?" I asked, "what will I know, will it be good or bad?"
"I cannot explain it" he said, "NO one can rightly explain it, EVER! I can say this though; good or bad, you will choose the path yourself. Whatever the choice, it will change your life, and whichever you choose, there will be NO going back! Do you understand that?"
"Yes." I replied.
"Do you really?" he asked in an almost challenging tone. "You MUST be certain on this: YOUR LIFE CHANGES FOREVER THIS VERY EVENING! You, and you alone WILL make the choice! And with the press of a syringe or the crimp of a ring, THERE WILL BE ABSOLUTELY NO TURNING BACK!"
"I understand" I said clearly, looking him straight in the eyes, "I'm ready".
"Indeed!" he said "Then let's go inside".
A lot of things happened in a very short time, yet parts of it seemed to go on forever. There was the reading of a lot of papers, and the asking and answering of many questions.
Then a big question.
"William Mauraack" said the Doctor, "the time is short. We have gone over all that is needed at this time, and you have read or proxied all necessary documents".
"You know the two options, what do you wish to do?"
I looked at everyone. It was the briefest of moments, but it seemed like an eternity. I had felt an uneasiness during that last question, a fear that I would make yet another wrong decision.
Was there even a "right" decision, or just the settling for the lesser of two bad situations?
I then looked at the young Vulture. She stretched her neck out to me, propped her head on the rim of the basket, and gazed up at me with those deep, dark eyes.
All doubts were immediately shattered and blown away.
"I want her to live!" I cried. "I accept all terms and conditions!"
"You accept more than that" replied the Doctor, "much more". He then turned to my parents. "Do you accept his decision?" he asked.
My father worked his mouth as if to say something, but mom shot him an evil look, and he just gave a weak nod. "We accept" my mom said, firmly and decisively.
"Good!" said the Doc, and he received a clipboard of papers from Clive. He then turned to me. "Do you have a name for her?" he asked.
Crikes! In all that was happening, and not knowing her gender, I hadn't even thought of naming her.
I was at a loss.
I reached for a hanging corner of the towel she was wrapped in to dab away the sweat from my brow, but it was still sandy from where I had scooped her up. I looked at it, and it suddenly hit me.
"Sandey!" I cried, "with an "ey" at the end".
The Doc printed in a space near the top form and handed it to me. "Like so?" he asked. "Yes" I replied. "Sign here" he said, and I did. He then signed it and handed it to Clive, who also signed it. Clive then took out a pliers-like tool which he used to press an embossed seal into the document.
Clive Ostler, it turned out, was also a notary public!
Other documents came out, went under our pens, and then to Clive's seal. Some were signed by me, some by my parents, and some by all of us, but all by Clive and Dr. Trede. One set was for the seed shed plot.
“One Rand annual fee for the seed shed property, payable immediately” the Doctor said.
I dug in my near-empty pocket and pulled out a 1983 1 Rand Springbok coin, which I had been saving as it had a small diechip cud at the rim, a minor rarity. I handed it to him, and he put it in his vest pocket. With those papers signed and sealed, the main stack was done with.
He then took his bag, and removed a small flip-top case. Inside was a heavy pliers-like tool with strange curved jaws, and a rack of numbered, crescent-shaped clips. Holding the tool, he picked up the rack, and appeared to be going to remove one of the clips, when he paused to look at Sandey, and then to me.
Why the pause? I began to wonder. But the musing was cut short by his sudden gaze. It was horrifically intense and penetrating, seeming to pierce right into my mind, and to see my very thoughts.
I turned my gaze to Sandey.
Suddenly, it was clear to me, here was the "real" asking of the question, and I was to give my "real" answer here. And in turning to Sandey, the answer was apparently given.
But to my surprise, he put down the rack of clips. He then reached into an inner pocket of his coat, and took out a small coin purse. He opened it, and drew out a single crescent, much like the others, but with a silky smooth luster, obviously of a very different metal.
"This is the one" he muttered.
With it was a peel-off decal. He handed the decal to Clive, and moved over next to Sandey. He gently sought out a leg, and examined it carefully. With Clive now holding the leg steady, Doc opened the tool, and inserted the clip. He slipped it over the lower leg, positioned it, took a deep breath, and clamped down.
It took a tremendous effort, even for him. This wasn't the usual aluminum or monel, or even stainless. But form it did, and with the tool's extra-polished jaws, it neatly closed up into a perfect circle, with the ends closed, and perfectly aligned & square.
"I should know in a few days whether she will get an international number and ring" he said, "but this new provincial series is permanent, and will be an official identification for life".
He then handed me a clear packet. In it was an instruction sheet, some swabs & pads, the tube of ointment he used earlier, and another of the same, but unopened. "Follow the enclosed instructions". he said. "Use a pea-sized measure for each wound and raw spot, once in the morning, once in the evening, and after each cleaning. There's more, but Clive has a few things first".
"All in order" said Clive, as he handed the doctor two pale blue leatherette folios, two manila folders, and the fat manila envelope he had drawn out earlier. He tucked the manilas into a tote sack, and handed one of the folios to mom and father, and one to me.
It looked like a version of the presentation album my brother's high school diploma was given in, but vertical, and as large as a classroom work folio. And with a wallet-like construction to hold more papers, in addition to the two inside glassined display pockets, one on each side.
"Well, master William" asked the Doctor "how do you feel?"
I was dizzy and all but reeling. What started as an ordinary day, had just in a few hours turned my whole life upside-down, and promised to change it forever.
It was all so unreal.
But then I looked down to Sandey, and it all came together. Of the many "things" that came and went in my life, she was the most "real" of all.
"I feel fine" I said, but my eyes surely belied it as the understatement of my life.
"Excellent! said the Doc. "Relax and tend to your dinner. We will be back at ten to help with the shed, the move, and her next feeding. Remember, we MUST have it cleared out, and Sandey moved in by midnight. Anything still in the shed when she is moved in must remain there, be used there, or be destroyed and discarded".
Mom invited them to stay for dinner, but they firmly declined. He and Clive quickly packed all but a few selected items away, and pointed out a tightly wrapped package that Clive had left in the fridge. As they made their way to the door, mom went to see them off. They exited with polite farewells, but Clive stopped and began checking himself.
"Just a moment!" he said, as he rushed back through the door.
He went back to where he had been sitting, and began searching about. "Can I help?" I asked. "Got it!" he said, as he retrieved his Mont Blanc 18K pen from the edge of the cushion. He put it away, and then turned to me.
"Lucky fish!" he whispered, "you & Sandey got the very first titanium ring!"
I waved as they left, and then looked in the folio. In the left display was the lease to the seed shed plot, and in the right display was the rehab permit. And affixed & sealed was the decal with the ring number. It said "RSA-CP-CV-0001".
I looked at Sandey, clutched the folio with the gold-embossed Cape Province seal on the front cover, and felt like I was holding the keys to the kingdom!
My father looked at me & Sandey, and looked at his black-embossed folio, which contained very different papers, and gave a look like he had just been given a court sentence.
"Okay" he growled, "let's get to work".
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This concludes the first chapter of "Sandey".
The second chapter, already completed but still subject to editing, will follow sometime soon, probably a month from now.
Resident Hyaena ^..^
