August 2024 Rural Montana

There has been a good deal of clamor in the tabloids and other more reputable media lately about Libertarian freedom fighters in Europe having somehow mastered the ability to transform themselves into wolves by their own volition, although it has been stressed that they always conduct their operations at Full Moon.

A few Middle Eastern terrorist groups have further asserted that certain Jewish terrorists commit atrocities in werewolf disguise so that people will blame European Libertarians, whose Darwinist anti-globalization agenda angers them. Because of this, kids everywhere are making all kinds of crazy werewolf jokes, even in the mountains of rural Montana.

Walter Durrant’s son, Billy, is a good kid. He has raging hormones for Susan MacLain… that skin… those curves. Billy suffers from a condition which his older brother, a student at the University of Montana, refers to jokingly as Bonum Perpetuitum.

Walter has been adamant in his opposition to a bill in Congress to bring twenty thousand Central American refugees into resettlement camps in rural Montana. This has gotten him plenty of nasty letters and late night telephone threats.

It’s early September, Billy and the other kids will be back to junior high as eighth graders. It’s unusually cool today. Sue and Billy are walking briskly through the birches along the ridge overlooking Feather Lake.

Billy’s huge white German Shepherd, Fairfax, is frisking along with them, covering ten miles for every one they walk. He’s following trails of creatures the kids can only wonder about. He catches up, stops in front of them, and whines with knitted brow.

Billy exclaims. “He looks worried, Sue. Probably scented a female in heat.”

“Or a porcupine. That time Rolf got tangled up with one, Dr. Zullo took nine quills out of his muzzle. Dogs are brave, but crazy to fight a porky. It’s like that canine bravery thing just won’t let them stop. Like men in war.”

They decide to go window shopping on Durrant Street, named for Billy’s ancestors. They come to the Country Gentleman Shop and go in to visit Weyland Proctor.

“Hey, Wey, how you doing?” asks Billy.

‘Long hours, short pay,” Weyland replies in a world weary voice.

His father, the store owner, scowls, then smiles, “What you kids up to? You won’t be loafin’ around much longer, back to school next week.”

“Billy says, “Hi, Mr. Proctor. Just been hiking near the lake. Do you carry camping stuff?”

“Nope. Try the hardware store. You going camping soon?”

“Well, like you said, back to school. You and Janie want to come, Wey?

‘Yes, I’d like to. When, where, and with whom?”

Mr. Proctor looks very pleased with Wey’s correct grammar.

“This weekend’s the last chance. I’m thinking the deep forest north of Friar’s Woods. A party of eight. You ask Don and Nancy. I’ll call Kyle tonight.”

Billy calls Kyle.

Sorry Billy, I have a dentist appointment in the morning and my uncle Bob is coming to visit in the afternoon. Sure wish I could go. I’ll call Judy and have her contact you. I hope she’ll want to go anyway,