My Life in Shambles(70)

It was time to hire a live-in nurse to help him with his final weeks.

She’s supposed to be coming today, something that Agnes isn’t too happy about since it means that Agnes has to move from her bedroom in the cottage to the bedroom next to mine in the B&B. But we haven’t had any guests this month at all, so I don’t see how it’s hurting anything. Actually, I get the feeling that Agnes is putting up a tough front and being grumpy over that because she hates what this means for Colin and everyone else.

Right now, I’m standing beside Padraig by the mews, watching Hooter McGavin fly from post to post. It’s what Nan calls a “soft day,” all grey and misty, not too cold either. Padraig seems in relatively good spirits and has been teaching me more about the art of falconry.

“Ye see,” he says, throwing out what looks like a grey fuzzy lump attached to a spool of thin rope, “this is the lure. And if Hooter was a good bird, he’d be trying to go after it, thinking it’s prey. But ye see he’s a lazy cunt and a little fat, so he’s not food motivated right now.” He gestures to the other cage, where the hawk lets out a piercing cry. “Clyde, however, is eager. He wants to hunt. I’d let him out to do it but I know that bird isn’t coming back.”

I’d read all about this in the books but I like the way Padraig is explaining things, so I don’t bother telling him that I know the whole point of falconry is hunting. It’s actually kind of a crazy ass sport. Instead of guns, people go out into the woods with their birds and the birds are the ones that do the hunting for them, bringing them rabbits and shit.

But no one will be hunting with these birds anytime soon.

“How is he?” comes Colin’s voice.

Padraig and I turn to see Colin coming out of the cottage and taking a few steps on his own. He’s got on pajama pants as usual but he’s also in rubber boots and a rain coat.

“Dad,” Padraig says, walking quickly over to him. He wraps his arm around his waist, supporting him. “What are ye doing out here?”

He makes a weak attempt to point to me. “I want to teach her about Clyde since I know ye damn well can’t.”

“Are you sure?” I ask as they come closer. “Are you up for it?”

“I’m here, ain’t I?”

“You’ve been sleeping for days, Dad,” Padraig says gently. “You haven’t been eating.”

“I’m fine,” he growls and then starts coughing up a lung, making both of them pause. He then taps Padraig’s chest. “I’m fine. Let’s keep going.”

A knot forms in my throat when I have the distinct feeling that this might be the last time I see Colin walking.

They come over to me and he says, “Let me see that ring, dear.”

I raise it up and flash it at him.

He smiles, open mouthed, looking absolutely tickled pink about it. “A beauty, just like you.”

I glance up at Padraig and he’s feeling emotional too.

“Now,” Colin says, “where is the gauntlet?”

Padraig picks it up off the ground but doesn’t give it to him. “Are you sure, dad? The gauntlet is heavy enough even without the bird.”

“Just give it to me, will ye?” he says and Padraig slips it over his arm.

Colin takes a few steps by himself, shooing Padraig away, and stops, facing McGavin who is on the furthest post about twenty feet away.

“Howya McGavin,” he says. He widens his stance, though Padraig goes right up behind him, ready to support him if he falls, and then to my utter surprise, puts his fingers in his mouth and lets out a loud, piercing whistle.

The owl looks at him in shock and Colin sticks out his arm, all the way. It’s shaking but he’s doing it.

The owl bobs his head and then takes flight, his big beautiful wings flapping twice before he throws them back and puts his claws out for a perfect landing right on Colin’s arm.

“Oof,” Colin cries out and stumbles a bit. Padraig is there, holding him steady and Colin manages to keep his arm fairly level, the owl still sitting on it and peering at him with those inquisitive eyes.

“How are ye my handsome lad?” he asks the bird, tickling its chest feathers with his finger. “You treating my daughter-in-law good?” The bird nods his head and I laugh. “Oh, really?” Colin says, pretending to have a conversation with him. “They did what now?” He leans in closer to the owl. “Ah, the cheek of it.”

Colin glances up and behind him at Padraig. “He’s yer bird now, Padraig,” he says to him. “He likes ye too, he always has. Promise me you’ll take good care of him. Give him mice instead of chicken. Let him go hunting every now and then, he might just find something in those woods. He wants to please ye, you know.”

“I will, Dad,” Padraig says, a strain in his voice.

“Good,” he says. “Come on, let’s get you back to yer roost.” With Padraig’s support, they walk together to the cage and open the door. The owl hops inside.

“Now,” Colin says, taking off his gauntlet and letting it drop to the ground, “to see Clyde.”

“Dad, you’re going to need this,” Padraig says, crouching to pick up the gauntlet.

“Leave it,” he says. “I know what I’m doing.”