Linda, of course, is the original magnetic field, and attracts everything you've ever wanted. Linda claims a bedroom and before long Pootie has snuck under the covers. Tater the cat hears the creak of her bedspring and vaults out of my sheets to tunnel into hers. Dave and Walter at least think about it.
"Not that--just over the nutria's shoulder, on the bank," she pointed, as a sleek and unmistakable silhouette turned her way in salute, and rippled into the undergrowth.
Then she set about locating Life Birds for me, in my home territory. We studied a woodpecker for a while before I finally pegged it for a particularly disheveled Hairy, but she said it was a Black-Backed Woodpecker. I have never heard of a Black-Backed Woodpecker. What the hell. Turns out they're rare, which didn't keep this one from showing up for Linda.
We'll ignore the hummingbirds that unfailingly try to drill into Linda's left ear, looking for the source of sweetness. That's old hat by now. We can gloss over the bear tracks she found on the beach, and set aside the whale spouting out of season, the meteors, and the slug fornication. Surely, if there really is a secret in the mossy dark of the Pacific Northwest, we can put Linda's talents to a more singular test. See what she is really made of.
Well, the girl's no good with secrets. She doesn't have any of her own, and, lacking guile and deceit, might be careless with someone else's. This doesn't bother me. But there's always a smile on tap in that face of hers, sure as shine on water. It's never submerged for long, and then it otters up again. It's powerful. There might well be a secret in it.