Free Flash by Rachel Anne Ridge Page B

want to appear foolish, so I played along while she threw out other trade acronyms she obviously assumed I knew. I caughtwhat I could and furiously scribbled notes so I could look things up later.
    “Wow, sounds like a great project,” I said confidently. “We’d love to be part of it!” Bridgette’s energy and excitement were contagious, and somehow even her use of inside industry terms made me feel ready to take on the world. Our mural business was still bumping along, and this was exactly the break we’d been waiting for. We set a time to meet at the building site and then hung up.
    My heart sank. The reality of having to present the ideas in person to the client suddenly hit me. What was I thinking? This job was way beyond the scope of anything we’d ever done, and I didn’t understand even half of what Bridgette was talking about. Not only was this project going forward in a language I didn’t understand . . . I also didn’t have the wardrobe for it. Years of painting baby nurseries and cramped bathrooms had hardly prepared me for effeffeny , or whatever it was. It sounded so corporate and professional. This would not end well, I just knew it. My stomach turned at the thought.
    Meanwhile, Tom was calling our place “some kind of circus,” and he wasn’t too far off in his assessment. It seemed every animal in the county made its way onto our property at one time or another: raccoons who regularly dined on Beau’s dog food, opossums who loved picking apart our trash, mice running amok, coyotes, bobcats, snakes, stray dogs and cows . . . all looking for mischief, and they all seemed to find us.
    In fact, shortly before Flash had arrived on the scene, we were awakened from sleep by four loose horses traipsing through our yard at midnight, followed by people in pickup trucks who were trying to round them up. Maybe it was the whoops, hollers, andblaring music that spooked the renegades, or perhaps it was the spinning tires, or the sound of beer bottles being thrown, or the crazy gunfire aimed skyward that made the horses run wildly in circles. Hard to tell. All we knew was that later, when a stray donkey showed up, it seemed like just another act in an animal circus gone awry.
    By the time spring rolled around, Flash had become friends with the rather large and cumbersome cattle in the next pasture. As we educated ourselves about donkeys, we learned they are social creatures who are best kept with other donkeys. Unfortunately, that was not anywhere in our budget. Flash would have to fly solo for a while.
    In the absence of another donkey, they might make do with a cow, horse, sheep, or goat. Anything but a dog, at least in Flash’s case. Dogs (and coyotes) are donkeys’ natural enemies, which explained a whole lot about Flash and Beau’s chilly relationship. Still in a barking/kicking standoff with one another, each day found Flash at the back fence, preferring to fraternize with the fat bovines on the other side than with a slobbery, exuberant Lab. While the cows seemed mostly indifferent   —lying down or standing with their heads through the fence for the “better” grass on our side   —Flash hung out near them like a comfortable old companion.
    The days were warming, and there was a slow, easy pace to life in the pasture. I wished I could say the same for life on the “people” side of the fence. The stream of marauding animals only complicated the juggling act of work and family. There was nothing like picking up the contents of an overturned garbage can after a gang of raccoons had picked through it, while still trying to make it to the day’s job site on time. Country life,while much prettier than suburban life, takes a whole lot more work to maintain.
    Finally, a weekend arrived that wasn’t filled with hockey games and trips to Home Depot for project supplies. We could catch up on some of our own honey-dos for a change. I stood at the kitchen sink and plunged my hands into the sudsy