Sugar Daddy (Travis Family #1)(12)

Later on when a contrary public didn't take to the idea of replacing a Big Mac with a Big Bird, the bottom dropped out of the market and dozens of emu ranchers turned their worthless birds loose. At the height of the emu craze, there were plenty of birds to be found in fenced pastures, and like any animal in a restricted area, they occasionally found a way to get past the fence.

As best I could make out, Flip's emu encounter happened on one of those narrow country roads in the middle of nowhere, while he was driving back from a dove lease someone had let him in on. Dove season lasts from the beginning of September to the end of October. If you don't have your own acreage, you can pay someone else for the privilege of hunting their land. The best leases are covered with sunflowers or corn and feature a water tank, which brings the doves in fast and low, wings flashing.

Flip's share of the lease had been seventy-five dollars, which Mama had paid just to get him out of the trailer for a few days. We hoped Flip might be lucky enough to hit some doves we could grill with some bacon and jalapenos. Unfortunately, while Flip's aim was dead-on when an object was holding still, he couldn't get the knack of hitting a target in motion.

Heading back home empty-handed, his gun barrel still hot from the day's shooting. Flip was forced to stop his truck when the road was blocked by a six-foot-tall blue-necked emu.

He honked the horn and shouted at the creature to move away, but the emu wouldn't budge. It just stood there looking at him with beady yellow eyes. It wouldn't move even when Flip got his shotgun from the back of the truck and fired in the air. The emu was either too mean or too puny-brained to scare.

It must have occurred to Flip as he waited in a standoff with the emu that it looked a lot like a giant chicken with long legs. It also must have occurred to him that there was a lot of eating on that bird, about a thousand times more than a handful of tiny dove br**sts. Better yet. unlike the doves, the emu was holding still. So in a bid to restore his injured masculinity, his aim fine-tuned by hours of flamingo practice, Flip hefted the gun to his shoulder and blew the emu's head clean off.

He returned home with the huge carcass in the back of the truck, expecting to be hailed as a conquering hero.

I was on the patio reading when I heard the familiar putter of Flip's truck and the sound of the engine being cut. Skirting around the trailer, I went to ask if Flip had caught any doves or not. Instead I saw a big dark-feathered body in the pickup bed: and bloodstains all over Flip's camo shirt and jeans like he'd been slaughtering cattle instead of dove hunting.

"Looky here," he told me with a big grin, tipping the bill of his cap back on his head.

"What's that?" I asked in amazement, inching closer to view the thing.

He postured a little. "Shot me an ostrich."

I wrinkled my nose at the smell of fresh blood that wafted thick and sweet in the air. "I don't think that's an ostrich. Flip. I think it's an emu."

"No difference." Flip shrugged, his grin broadening as Mama came to the door of the trailer. "Hey, honey pie.. .look what Daddy brung home."

I'd never seen my mother's eyes turn so big. "Holy shit, " she said. "Flip, where the hell did you get that emu?"

"Shot it on the road," he replied proudly, mistaking her shock for admiration. "Gonna be mighty good eating tonight. Tastes just like beef, they say."

"That thing must be worth at least fifteen thousand dollars," Mama exclaimed, putting a hand on her heart as if to keep it from leaping out of her chest.

"Not anymore," I couldn't resist saying.

Mama glared at Flip. "You've destroyed someone's private property."

"No one'll find out," he said. "Come on, honey, hold the door open so I can bring it inside and butcher it."

"You're not about to bring that into my trailer, you crazy dumbass! Take it away. Take it away now\ You're going to get us both arrested for this."

Flip was plainly bewildered that his gift was so unappreciated. Seeing the storm about to come, I mumbled something about returning to the patio and retreated to a spot behind the corner of the trailer. In the minutes that followed it was likely most of Bluebonnet Ranch heard Mama screaming that she'd had it, there was no way she was going to put up with him another minute. Disappearing into the trailer, she rummaged around for a short time, then came back with an armload of denim and boots and men's underwear. She flung the lot of it onto the ground. "Take your stuff and get out of here now!"

"You call me crazy?" Flip shouted back. "You're out of your gourd, woman! Quit throwing my things like—Hey, stop that!" It began to rain T-shirts and hunting magazines and foam beer can holders, the effluvia of Flip's life of leisure. Swearing and huffing indignantly. Flip gathered the objects from the ground and hurled them into his truck.

In less than ten minutes Flip had driven away from the trailer, his wheels spinning, gravel flying behind him. All that remained was the hulk of a headless emu. deposited right in front of our door.

Mama was breathing heavily, her face crimson. "That useless jackass," she muttered. "Should have gotten rid of him a long time ago.. .an emu, for Christ's sake..."

"Mama," I asked, coming to stand beside her. "Is Flip gone for good?"

"Yes, " she said vehemently.