The Forest Ranger's Promise

“Where’re their mothers?” Shelley asked.

“They don’t have moms. These are dogie lambs. They’re orphans.”

“Doggie lambs?”

“No, you’re saying it wrong. They’re not doggie lambs, like Bob is a dog. You say it like dough. Dough-gie lambs.”

Shelley repeated the word perfectly.

“Yeah, that’s what orphans are called.”

“Oh, that’s so sad.” Shelley hugged the lamb again as it tugged on the bottle.

Anne waved a hand in the air. “They’re okay. We take good care of them. They’re already nibbling hay and alfalfa pellets. Soon, we’ll be taking them out to graze in the paddock.”

The hungry lamb jerked, knocking Shelley back into the straw. The girl laughed. “What happened to their moms?”

“Some died, but sometimes the ewe has twins or triplets and she can only take care of one or two of her babies when she goes up to the summer pasture to graze. So we bring the smaller baby here to tend.”

“Then not all the moms died?”

“Of course not, silly.” Anne snickered. “You really don’t know much.”

“Then I guess I’m a dogie lamb, too.”

Anne raised her brow. “What do you mean?”

“My mom isn’t dead, but she doesn’t want me. My dad doesn’t think I know, but I do.”

Shelley sounded like she was about to cry. Anne felt like crying, too, but refused to let it show. Even when Dad had been alive, she’d had an empty feeling inside all the time. Like he didn’t really love or want her. Like he preferred his bottle to her and Mom. But she’d always had Mom to love her. How horrible not to be wanted by your own mother. “What mom doesn’t want her kid?”

Shelley scuffed a sandaled foot against the rough lumber of the feeding stall. “Mine doesn’t. She got married to Malcolm Henley the third, and he doesn’t like kids, so I have to live with Dad. I heard them arguing about it late one night when I was supposed to be asleep.” A glimmer of a smile touched her lips. “Dad can’t cook much, but at least he wants me. He got this new transfer to Snyderville and I had to leave all my old friends behind.”

Anne thought this over for a moment, biting her lower lip. Shelley didn’t have any friends, just like her. During recess, the kids at school called her the town drunk’s daughter and she’d learned to play by herself. “Then that makes you half a dogie because you still have your dad. I guess I’m a half dogie, too. My daddy died, but I still have Mom and she loves me lots.”

Tears glistened in Shelley’s eyes. “My dad loves me, too. I’m sorry we’re both half dogies.”

“Me, too.”

And right then, Anne knew it wasn’t Shelley’s fault that her father was the forest ranger. They had a lot in common. It got so lonely here at the ranch with no one but Mom and an occasional work hand to talk to. The herders were always nice to her, but Mom never left her alone with them and they really didn’t have anything in common with her. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to be a little bit nice to Shelley Ennison.

“Come on. I’ll show you how to feed the lambs. But next time you visit, you should wear blue jeans and boots.”

“I don’t have any boots.”

Anne shrugged. “Then just wear tennis shoes.”

She led Shelley into the next pen. Shelley held the bucket of milk while Anne used a funnel to fill seven bottles. Shelley seemed eager to help and Anne appreciated the company and the help with her chores. But she sure wished Shelley’s dad was a rancher instead of a ranger.

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