address to make us legal. As far as anyone knows, Craig and Hetta and Roger and Jan all live happily together.
"Hi, honey, miss me?" I chirped when Craig answered. He turned on his camera and I noticed he was even more svelte and chiseled than the last time I saw him at my fortieth—there, I said it without stuttering!—birthday party in Conception Bay a few weeks before.
"Hetta! Great to talk to you. I've enjoyed your emails, but it's not the same as seeing you and dishing some dirt. What are you up to? How's Jan? Jenks? Po Thang?"
"Jan and Jenks are fine, but Po Thang is one of the reasons I called. He has taken up a bad habit or two."
"What can you expect, Hetta? He learns from his master, or mistress in your case. You have stopped giving him people food, right?"
I looked over at Po Thang, who was licking pig leavings from a plate. Pig is not really people food, right?
"Sure. The problem is, he's taken to jumping ship and swimming for shore. Are those GPS microchip doodads you make waterproof?"
"Waterproof, yes. Don't know how they'd hold up underwater for long periods, though. I'll give one a test. You want to bring him up for a fitting?"
"Can't, even though I would love to. How're my guns."
"Locked up safe and sound. Please don't tell me you need them. Again."
"Naw. Just kinda miss 'em. Anyhow, could Chino do the implant? He is a veterinarian, even if he does spend all his time with whales. I know he puts tracking devices on some of them."
"Probably with a harpoon. He'll need a little more finesse with Po Thang."
"But he can do it?"
"Sure. I've been teaching ranchers to do it themselves."
"They chip themselves?"
He laughed. "Very funny. I miss your sense of humor. When are you coming home?"
"Maybe soon. I can't decide what to do when I grow up. Say, could you arrange for someone to implant a chip in Texas?"
"That'd take a pretty big chip."
"Very funny, yourself. Someone in Texas."
"No problem."
"Great. Well, you've met my Aunt Lillian…."
Turns out the chip's tracking distance is only five miles, and I didn't want to be within a hundred miles of my aunt. Oh, well, it would have been nice to have some kind of alarm go off if she ever headed my way again.
But, for Po Thang, five miles would be better than nothing.
Since I had Skype up and running, I called Jenks, even though it was five a.m. in Dubai. He gets up at four anyhow. He picked up on the third ring. There was a loud roar in the background.
"Hello? Hello? Hetta, I can't really hear you. I'll call back when I can." Just before the line went dead, I heard him yell, "Oh, hell, we're going down…."
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Jenks is a pilot, and when an aviator says, "Oh, hell, we're going down," it can only mean one thing.
I went cold with fear. It took me forty years to find, stalk, and snare the world's greatest guy, and now he's crashing into some godforsaken desert? "No!" I screamed.
Po Thang jumped to his feet and looked guilty.
I reached out and gave him an ear rub. "Sorry. You haven't done anything that deserves an N-O, sweetie," I told him, spelling the dreaded word so as not to upset him further. He looked relieved and licked my hand. Poor thing already thinks his second name is, "Sit-and stay."
I tried calling Jenks back, got nowhere, grabbed a glass of wine and went out on deck to wash down my fears. What seemed like an hour, but was probably only ten minutes later, my cellphone rang.
"Hetta. Sorry about that. The prince and I are out practicing with his RC helicopter, and something went wrong."
"What? Oh, my god, you did crash. Are you and Prince Faoud all right?"
"What? Of course we are."
"Thank goodness. You scared the hell out of me. What are you doing flying the prince's helicopter?"
There was a pause, then Jenks started laughing, which pissed me off. First he scares the poop out of me, and then laughs about it? What kind of nut case had he turned into over there?
"Okay you s.o.b., I'm hanging up now. You
"Hi, honey, miss me?" I chirped when Craig answered. He turned on his camera and I noticed he was even more svelte and chiseled than the last time I saw him at my fortieth—there, I said it without stuttering!—birthday party in Conception Bay a few weeks before.
"Hetta! Great to talk to you. I've enjoyed your emails, but it's not the same as seeing you and dishing some dirt. What are you up to? How's Jan? Jenks? Po Thang?"
"Jan and Jenks are fine, but Po Thang is one of the reasons I called. He has taken up a bad habit or two."
"What can you expect, Hetta? He learns from his master, or mistress in your case. You have stopped giving him people food, right?"
I looked over at Po Thang, who was licking pig leavings from a plate. Pig is not really people food, right?
"Sure. The problem is, he's taken to jumping ship and swimming for shore. Are those GPS microchip doodads you make waterproof?"
"Waterproof, yes. Don't know how they'd hold up underwater for long periods, though. I'll give one a test. You want to bring him up for a fitting?"
"Can't, even though I would love to. How're my guns."
"Locked up safe and sound. Please don't tell me you need them. Again."
"Naw. Just kinda miss 'em. Anyhow, could Chino do the implant? He is a veterinarian, even if he does spend all his time with whales. I know he puts tracking devices on some of them."
"Probably with a harpoon. He'll need a little more finesse with Po Thang."
"But he can do it?"
"Sure. I've been teaching ranchers to do it themselves."
"They chip themselves?"
He laughed. "Very funny. I miss your sense of humor. When are you coming home?"
"Maybe soon. I can't decide what to do when I grow up. Say, could you arrange for someone to implant a chip in Texas?"
"That'd take a pretty big chip."
"Very funny, yourself. Someone in Texas."
"No problem."
"Great. Well, you've met my Aunt Lillian…."
Turns out the chip's tracking distance is only five miles, and I didn't want to be within a hundred miles of my aunt. Oh, well, it would have been nice to have some kind of alarm go off if she ever headed my way again.
But, for Po Thang, five miles would be better than nothing.
Since I had Skype up and running, I called Jenks, even though it was five a.m. in Dubai. He gets up at four anyhow. He picked up on the third ring. There was a loud roar in the background.
"Hello? Hello? Hetta, I can't really hear you. I'll call back when I can." Just before the line went dead, I heard him yell, "Oh, hell, we're going down…."
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Jenks is a pilot, and when an aviator says, "Oh, hell, we're going down," it can only mean one thing.
I went cold with fear. It took me forty years to find, stalk, and snare the world's greatest guy, and now he's crashing into some godforsaken desert? "No!" I screamed.
Po Thang jumped to his feet and looked guilty.
I reached out and gave him an ear rub. "Sorry. You haven't done anything that deserves an N-O, sweetie," I told him, spelling the dreaded word so as not to upset him further. He looked relieved and licked my hand. Poor thing already thinks his second name is, "Sit-and stay."
I tried calling Jenks back, got nowhere, grabbed a glass of wine and went out on deck to wash down my fears. What seemed like an hour, but was probably only ten minutes later, my cellphone rang.
"Hetta. Sorry about that. The prince and I are out practicing with his RC helicopter, and something went wrong."
"What? Oh, my god, you did crash. Are you and Prince Faoud all right?"
"What? Of course we are."
"Thank goodness. You scared the hell out of me. What are you doing flying the prince's helicopter?"
There was a pause, then Jenks started laughing, which pissed me off. First he scares the poop out of me, and then laughs about it? What kind of nut case had he turned into over there?
"Okay you s.o.b., I'm hanging up now. You
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