Sandey - chapter 1

[Resident Hyaena]

Here is the draft for the second chapter. I thought I had posted it just a couple of days before the forum went down, but I'm not sure.
The first "completed" part, chapter one, posted in the Prose section of the Stories & Poems forum, needs to be corrected also. I can't tell if I sent the corrected version, since we do not appear to have a Sent Messages folder in our mailbox.
Let me know what work this second chapter may need.
 
Resident Hyaena ^..^
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The  Disclaimer & Warning near the top of this thread STRONGLY applies to this chapter! So much so, I probably should reprint it here.
 
Disclaimer & Warning
This disclaimer, or an updated or "customized" version will precede all versions of this story, or any "separated" part thereof. It is NOT to be removed from the story, in full or in part.
If you are re-assembling the story from separate chapter or section posts, then only the "first chapter copy" of the Disclaimer & Warning is needed. If there are different versions, the latest version applies.
If redivided, each part of the story must carry a copy of it.
It is not to be modified, except as may be needed or required by changing or clarifying laws.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, goods, events and incidents are the products of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, actual events, or other real-world analogues is purely coincidental, if not miraculous.
This story deals with currently controversial issues, such as zoophily, sexuality, friendship, loyalty, charity, brotherhood, reasoning, trust and love.
It also questions and/or dissuades many currently popular "values", such as anger, fear, ignorance, authoritarianism, violence, sectarianism, intolerance, blind obedience, dogma and hate
As such, it may not be suitable for some audiences.
Because it deals with sexuality and depicts sexual activities, it is NOT for minors or those under-age as defined by the jurisdiction in which they reside, or by other legal authority which may apply.
Nor is it for anyone that may be offended by such material.

IMPORTANT, MUST READ!
If you are a minor, under-age, or otherwise disqualified or prohibited by ANY of the laws you are subject to, or if you are in ANY doubt, YOU MUST STOP READING BEFORE THE DOUBLE-DASHED LINE, and immediately return at least as far back as the last legally "safe" website you were at, or further back still.
You MUST NOT return, unless or until you are FULLY LEGALLY entitled to do so.
For all others with full legal right to view, the reader's discretion is strongly advised.
Disclaimer & Warning last edited 17 August 2017
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Sandey - chapter 2
by the
Resident Hyaena
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A lot of things began happening rather quickly. We got the shed cleared, and Sandey in that evening, well ahead of the midnight deadline. The Doc and Clive did follow up medical checks, with more detailed instructions on what to do, showed me how to prepare and weigh the meat, add the supplements, and log it in.
Various items were brought over in the following days, including some books, a list of more books, and a library card that I was supposed to use instead of my regular one. There was also a tackle box with all sorts of tools, grommets, snaps, swivel clips, and various pieces & rolls of leather. And I got a Cape Province Ornithological Society membership, the current issue of their journal, "The Siskin", and all of the back issues for the year.
My father got a few things as well, mainly lists of things to buy, such as building materials, and designs for perches, enclosures, racks, and storage units & the like. And always lots of paperwork. The lab tests came back negative, so Sandey was now secure in that regard, as was our tuberculin-free certification.
Sandey began her recovery almost immediately. The wounds quickly healed to where one could hardly tell that anything had been wrong  (I later learned that she was extraordinarily lucky; She was probably at the very limit of the shooter's range, resulting in wounds that were shallow, and all had missed the bones and more critical areas).
She regained her strength, and became very active, alert, and attentive.
Soon she was making short hops from perch to perch, and then short flights. I learned how to make leashes, jesses, and bracelets, and how to keep her properly tethered to her perches. It wasn't long before other kids got wind of it, and made their way over to gawk, squawk, and gab at the fence. They tired of it soon enough though, much to my relief.
The last of summer passed quickly, and school began. The Doc had taken my logs and project books to the school board, and came out with a two half-day per week classroom schedule, a home study program, and two full semesters credit for English and gym classes.
It was incredible, but also very strange; Class credits for dropped courses? A library card with no limits and NO due dates or fines? Or a grocer's voucher card with NO expiration? Nagging questions about these and other things. But such questions eventually fell by the wayside, and I soon settled into life as a part-time student, part-time ranch hand, and a nearly full-time Bird keeper.
With this change, and the reduction in available day-time for ranch duties, we had to hire-on extra help for field and barn work. Clive and Dr. Trede had a talk with the new ranch-hands, instructing them on how to behave, what to do & not to do, and also to report to the Doctor anything out-of-line with my father.
My father was absolutely livid at this, but he also knew that there was nothing he could do. He was on the shortest of probationary leashes; no breach of it would be tolerated, and the potential penalties and resulting fallout were unthinkable.
And from what I could see, he did indeed comply with all demands, and did all that he was supposed to do.
Sandey and I spent much of our waking time together, and we had become very close. She was gentle, and got along well with Doc, Clive, and the vet students & wildlife rehab apprentices they brought over. But she always looked to me as her "special" partner. Maybe it was because I was her rescuer & caretaker, and that I spent the most time with her, and did the most with her.
And yet there seemed to be something else, something I couldn't put my finger on.

A year came and went. My brother graduated from the Academy, and took a marine research assignment with the Natal Parks Board.
Though the class schedules changed, my remarkable situation continued. It felt great, but in some ways, it also felt odd. And soon, other things were getting even odder. My body was beginning to get hairy & lanky, and I soon had to learn how to shave.
And I was beginning to get strange feelings, especially in my chest, and in my "guts".
A few years earlier, my father sat Gerry down, and explained that he was becoming like "the Cows and the Chickens" and that he was "growing up" (He left it to Gerry to convey the info to me when I was older, when he was back on vacation from his assignment).
I had seen plenty of the Chickens and Cows mating, and then laying or giving birth, but I couldn't relate it to myself, or the strange feelings I was having. I was getting "ticklish" overall, and an especially strange tickling in my pants kept making my “thingy” get hard and my guts tighten.
One night in the shower, I was washing down that area, and it got ticklish and rock-hard. I was rubbing and lathering it, trying to relieve the "itch", but it only got worse. I went to rinse it off, but my hand swiped over it a couple more times. The itch suddenly soared to an unbelievable intensity, and it spread into my body, which began to shake.
I grasped the wash-towel  rack, and my hips thrust forward. I gasped and squeaked as my guts began contracting, and a thick, creamy liquid began spilling from my thing.
I slid down the shower stall, as all the stiffened muscles went limp. I was shivering, and felt like I had gone through the grape press. If not for the roar of the shower, the drone of the telly, and the clatter of the dishes being done, my sounds would have had mom and father wondering at the least.
I finally got up, finished my shower, made it back to my room, and got in my nightclothes. I sat there, wondering about what happened. Then I recalled what my brother told me, and the Animals & their breeding antics.
It all made sense now, I had just had a sexual experience!
You would have thought from the school chatter, the telly hoo-haa, the cinema. and from the Animals behaviour that it was supposed to be totally enjoyable. I didn't like it one bit. It felt as if I had injured something. But at least that dammed itch was gone.
Who knows, maybe that would be the end of it.
No such luck. Two days later, the "itch" was back, and it was worse. Two swipes, and I was "clutching the rack" again. A couple more times, and it began to get rather pleasant. In no time, I was "swiping" every day.
So this was sex, or rather the beginnings of it. Okay, fair enough.
Somehow though, it still wasn't right, something was surely missing.
Things continued with Sandey, but something strange was happening. When she was nuzzling and caressing me, I started getting those feelings and my thing, or dick was getting hard. I began to think of her during my swiping, or "wanking" as I learned it was called.
Soon, she was all I could think of and visualize while doing that.
And as time passed and as we grew, the feelings grew. I knew that men were only "supposed" to be thinking of girls that way, but for me, Sandey was the only "girl" in the world.
But it was even more than that. Beyond the physical feelings of build-up and "release", there were much deeper feelings: of kinship, of belonging...
...Of oneness!
We weren't just growing together, we were growing TOGETHER!
In many ways that I knew, and probably some that I didn't know, my life had become permanently interwoven and "bonded" with Sandey!
And soon I began to get ideas of the "next level" of bonding. But then something happened.
A couple of weeks later after supper, I was in the dipping room, filtering beeswax with mom, when we heard yelling, mooing, crates bins & buckets falling, more yelling, two gun blasts, and a wailing, trailing-off scream.
It was followed by a low din of flushed & flustered Birds, clucking Hens, a distant car door slam & peel-out, and the even more distant neighbours' barking dogs.
We rushed to the living room, just in time to hear the heavy tromp-tromp-tromp of boots on the porch walkway.
The door flung open, and in stormed my father, waving his arms, cursing like a sailor, and tossing his double-barrel shotgun on the sofa.
"Bastard!" he screamed, flinging his hat to the floor "sick fokken bastard! Caught some teenage skelm with his pants open, trying to stick it to one of the Cows!"
"Got away, but not before putting two loads of rock salt in his arse!"
"Mercy lord!" cried mom "I'll call the police right away".
"No you WON"T!" said father. "We don't need no fokken two-bob constable to leak this out, the Guild would be all over it, spreading filth about tainted cheese. Or worse!"
"No-siree!" he added, picking up and cradling the shotgun "I'll let "Madame Justeece" here do all the talking!". He then put it back on the rack over the mantle.
The next morning, I was taking two of the freshly cleaned surge pails to the milking stalls. I entered, set them on the counter next to two others, and turned around to find my father standing over me.
"You getting your work done?" he asked. "Yes" I said "I'm about to get the other four pails".
"Really?" he asked again in a sharper tone "you getting anything else done?".
"Well, I have the rest of the barn work until lunch, then feeding Sandey, and then relining the hive racks, and..."
"To hell with that Bird!" he yelled "did Gerry ever tell you about "the Cows and the Chickens", like I told him to?"
"Yes" I said, confused "just before he left after his vacation visit a couple of years ago".
"So what's with it?" demanded my father "You go to classes, workshops and the library, but never bring back a girl! I check, but you got no pictures, no magazines, nothing!"
"You never even talk about them!".
I would have expected it of him, and I had seen many clues. Yet it still shocked me to finally know for real that he had been routinely searching my room.
He then squinted and stepped forward "You going poof on me? faggots? Dogs? the Cows?..."
"No!" I said. But in that instant, my mind had jumped forward ...
...To Sandey!
"You lyin' to me boy?" he demanded. Again I said "No!", but thoughts and fears for Sandey now filled my head, and apparently coloured my reply.
He grabbed me with one hand, turned it under my collar, and lifted me clean off the ground.
"You listen to me boy and listen good! Unlike you, your brother Gerry will honour The Lord's Command, and continue the family legacy. You don't want no girls, YOUR disgrace and YOUR loss!"
"But if I hear of you doing any poofing, or if I find even the slightest hint that you been sticking your teat in those Cows or Chickens, so help me, I'll tan your hide so completely that no one'll be able to tell it from my boot-wipe!"
"Got that?"
"Y-Yes" I said, trying to force the word past the strangling collar.
He then swung me to one side, turned out his hand, and let go. I fell to the floor gasping, with a tray of mucked-out straw topped with fresh manure, breaking my fall.
"Get back to work!" he barked, as he turned back to the house.

So things continued. My father spent more time out at the old storage barns on the far edge of the vineyards, apparently making grapevine trellis posts, beehive racks, and other ranch woodwork. He still didn't want me, the hired hands, or mom anywhere near there.
I didn't care, so long as he wasn't near me or Sandey.
Another year. Again, I had the same unusual minimal class time, home courses, and of course, farm duties.
And best of all, my dear Sandey. With each year, she had grown closer to maturity, and her eyes went from dark, to brownish orange, and now deep orange.
And our relationship continued to grow. She would be ever more anxious upon any departure, and excited upon my return.
She would snuggle up to me, making funny little grunting and squeaking noises. And if I sat down, she would jump or climb into my lap, like a great feathered Dog, and lay down with her wings half-open, and her head and neck extended up toward my face.
Once we had fallen asleep like that, wrapped in each others embrace.
But along with that was a growing "heartache". I longed so much to take our relationship to the next level. Just one bit. Not even "entry". Just so much as to kiss her...
...To kiss her, "down there"!
But every time I thought of it, my father's dire warning echoed through my head. And my neck would cringe.
And my other "head & neck" would cringe even more.
Another deterrent was her age. She was still at least a year away from maturity, I knew it was wrong to try ANYTHING with her before her time.
Not because of law or morality, but biology. For all that our mutual thoughts and feelings might have said "Yes", her not-yet-mature body would still have to say "No".
And that was a far bigger deterrent than the law, the so-called gospel, and my father's bile combined!
But there was one other very big issue that would not disappear with maturity, and this could ultimately be the real deal-killer. Whether with her, or with another Bird, I knew that if I ever had the chance at anything, I would have to deal with something.
Something potentially dreadful.
In my studies, I had learned that unlike Mammals, Birds have a common chamber - a cloaca - which serves as the terminal for all the reproductive and excretory systems, with only one external opening to it, the anus-like vent.
Sure, I could "finger" her, but as wanking was now showing itself to be a rather "hollow" substitute for me, so I figured it must be for her.
If Sandey and I were ever to have a chance at engaging fully, there would be one thing we would have to do first. And with nearly every kind of Bird, it would be the ONLY thing we could do...
...Mouth to vent.
That would mean not just reproductive contact, but excretory contact. I would have to deal with the near-certainty of orally receiving the excretions.
I had tripped & fallen face-first into urine puddles in the Cow barn, and had both urine and Dog kak thrown in my face by bullies, so I knew just how disgusting that stuff could be, far, far worse then even its worst smell!
But there was no getting around it; since all sex with Birds is inherently anal, "real" intimacy with her would mean tasting her.
"that part" of her!
What could this do to me? Vultures were said to have antiseptic digestive systems and even excretions. But was it true? Would I get sick, would I get others sick?
There was more. I read that Bird urine is concentrated into a white uric acid  paste, maybe over fifty times more concentrated than the vile urea-based liquid I experienced with the bullies and the Cow barn.
Falconers and other Raptor handlers called it "slice".
Would this super-concentrated slice so disgust me as to damage the bond I had with Sandey? Would it bring our mutual development to a stop, and ultimately, to decay?
But there could be no putting it off, no way to avoid it, no circumvention. I had no choice. I HAD to know, I had to DO it.
I had to taste what she left behind!
One morning, I entered the enclosure and placed a whole lamb shank on her feeding platform, so as to maximize her feeding time. While she fed, I searched around for a "clean" sample, containing only her excretions and no extraneous debris.
I had done this many times the past few weeks & days, either not finding a good enough sample, or finding one but losing my nerve and running out of time. But today, there was a good one on her boulder perch which had been hosed clean yesterday, the two fractions separate and uniform.
There was no time to waste, I had to do it NOW!
I reached out with a washed hand, took a dab of the dark fraction and touched it to my tongue.
It tasted extremely bitter, like the black herbal muthi paste I was given for a mouth sore as a kid. But it was "only" bitter, no "septic" or other disturbing flavours, and no oily or other strange textures.
It was just "tolerable", for what it was. I spit it out and rinsed thoroughly with my water bottle.
But now came the "slice". For a Mammal, over a litre's worth of urine, concentrated into a small spread of white paste.
And unlike the previous material that had only "passed through", this had once been an integral part of her body!
I slowly reached out, took up a dab, and with my hand shaking. I took a deep breath.
I looked at it, and then looked at Sandey.
I immediately put it to my tongue.
There was a quick, brief tart acid sting. Then it suddenly melted and released its flavours.
It had a creamy, sweet & tart citrus-pineapple-vanilla taste. It went down, and left a warm "glow" in my throat, like extra strength cough syrup. And it was smoother than the smoothest crème or mousse you could imagine!
There were no words that could possibly express my astonishment, I was utterly stunned.
It was not nasty, revolting, terrible, repulsive, or disgusting in the least.
It tasted GREAT!
Then I did something I never once thought I would ever do; I scraped off and consumed all the slice I could get off of that rock.
And I began crying, with joy!
In the meantime, Sandey had finished, drank, and was settling into her post-meal "rest". I went over, and we did our scritches, preenings, and nuzzlings. But now there was a whole new dimension to it.
Sandey was in my heart, in my mind, and now, in a most unique way, she was in the very substance of my body!
And I would continue "adding her" to me!

As the year progressed. Sandey began moulting & growing still lighter plumage, and her deep orange eyes were now approaching the yellow of adulthood.
The changes should have been a time of great anticipation, but another change was afoot. I was approaching the end of my senior year, and instead of excited, I was getting worried. There was much discussion of college or the academy, but I was perfectly happy to continue on as a live-in worker, as was mom.
But father was clearly impatient for the day when he could legally give me the boot, and so get rid of Sandey by default.
As if to "expedite" it, he signed over to me the old Renault 5, which he had been talking openly about selling for the last two years, even though it still ran fairly well.
Through all this time, Dr Trede and Mr. Ostler were continuous visitors & mentors, always guiding, but leaving the “real” choices up to me.
That summer, he and Clive continued their usual visits, but with even more "guests", many looking and sounding very important, with notepads, tape recorders, cameras, Super 8 & 16mm cinematic cameras, and even portable videotape cameras.
One visit, after the usual routines, he took me aside, indeed, to the very spot where he had first presented me with that huge, unforgettable choice.
And from the look on his face, I could see something else huge was at hand.
“Almost six years ago” he said “I faced a troubled young boy, and presented him a crushing responsibility of his own making, and reluctantly gave him an immediate choice that few of any age should be expected to make”.
“The boy is no more. In his place stands a fine young man, who will soon be eighteen, and legally in charge of his destiny. And through it all, you have shown more talent, skill, professionalism, patience, care, and pure dedication than any other Animal caregiver I have ever had the privilege to work with”.
“And I have seen a relationship develop between you and Sandey that is unmatched by any other man and Bird relationship I have seen or heard of in my lifetime!”
“But times change, and so does one's life. Indeed it must, as that is the only way that one can grow. And life cannot continue without growth & change”.
“You now face new choices, some spelled out under law, some by one or both parents, and some by your own wants and needs. I know that you want to continue here, working for Springhaas Farms, and caring for Sandey”.
“Your mother is fine with that, but she would also like you to at least consider your options at higher education. For all your remarkable work with Sandey, that is still not enough to secure yourself a career in the biological fields”.
“A college degree in any of the biological sciences would open many doors. But to keep holding permits for Sandey, you would need the courses from Johannesburg or Cape Town to be able to justify the necessary new permits. The AgriSciences at Stellenbosch University would help you stay home and flourish as part of Springhaas Farms, but being a Matie at SU will not help you to keep Sandey”.
My heart sank. Deep down, or maybe not so deep down, I knew that to be true. I had hoped that somehow, I could continue my care for Sandey, to grow with her, to live with her.
To finally be completely and totally Hers!
But his words just reminded me of what I had been avoiding all this time; the day when I would have to say goodbye to her.
“Yet life also needs stability” he continued “especially in cases where major or very special and important things are present that would be disrupted or undone by uncontrolled or unmoderated change. And I can think of few things more special in this world than your incredible relationship with Sandey”.
“For some years now, I have been developing the idea of a dedicated facility or reserve, where people with very special and unique talents in the zoological fields, could live and work with Animals on-site. I have scouted out numerous sites for such a compound, and so far have narrowed it down to four possible locations”.
“Here is my idea: If you can convince your parents to allow you to stay on for at least two more years, I can arrange for college correspondence courses out of Johannesburg or Cape Town, under a special scholarship plan”.
“With those, I can get your soon-to-expire rehab permits replaced with four-year research permits, with no lapse, allowing you to keep unbroken custody and care of Sandey. In the meantime, the site will be selected and the facility built, probably with phase 1 completion in less than two years.
Then you and Sandey could both move there, along with others who have shown remarkable talent and potential, that would probably best flourish in an environment other than the more traditional institutions or venues”.
“And if all goes well, you and Sandey could continue to grow your relationship unimpeded, for as long as you may, even to the rest of your lives, safe and secure”.
My jaw dropped. How was such a thing possible? I knew by now that Dr Trede had enormous and far-reaching clout throughout business, government, tribal jurisdictions, and other circles of power, including international affairs!
But even with that, how could he get seeming carte blanche for all that he was able to do?
And where did the money come from that was needed to do all that he did and was going to do?
It was all too much to reckon with, l couldn't remember what I had said to him. Indeed, I wasn't sure if I had said anything at all.
But something got through, because he smiled and said "Yes William, we're going to make this happen!"
"Clive and I will be setting out next week, along with a geological expedition, to explore additional sites around the Drakensberg and the Eastern Cape. We will be gone for a bit over a month, but will be back in time to complete the deals well before your eighteenth birthday".
What could I say? What reply could I possibly give that would do justice for all that he had done and was continuing to do for me?
"Thank you Doctor Trede..." I started to say.
"Please" he said smiling "call me Bob!"
"Thank you Bob!" I replied "Thank you so very much, for everything!"
We did a handshake, which he then turned into a hug, the likes of which I had not known since the days of my dear grampa Philo.
And with that, it seemed that all the needed thanks were given!

A couple of days later, Clive and "Bob" Trede had another meeting with us to discuss the options. Mom was entirely on-board, but my father was balking and seething at the prospect of two more years of this, even though it meant two more years of having me as an "indentured" farmhand and labourer.
But he also could not ignore his ongoing and still subject-to-extension probation, and that after the two year agreement, he would finally be done with it, once and for all.
He reluctantly agreed to mull it over until their return, but I was confident mom would have the final say. Nothing could be decided until their return anyway.
Clive and the Doc left the next Monday. A week later, I returned home from the library, and found my father sitting in a chair facing the fireplace with a pale look on his face, and the sound of my mom crying in the next room. He then told me that Gerry, while surveying reefs for the Natal Parks Board, was found entangled in a derelict shark net, and had drowned.
Mom and I did a lot of crying and suffering, well past the funeral. But my father became even more cold and distant.
 He returned to spending long stretches of time in the old storage barns, sometimes with the sounds of hand or power tools, but mostly in silence. And still never letting the farm hands, mom or me near them.
Not that we even tried.
And he was all but demanding that we go out to town or elsewhere all day on weekends. I didn't worry much about Sandey's safety with him though, my father knew that if he made one wrong move, that Dr Trede would find out, and the Doctor would then see to it that he was trussed-up and skewered like a vark for an open-pit slow-braai!
Weeks passed, but the Doc and Clive had not yet returned. I was getting worried, my birthday was little more than a week away, and nothing was presented or signed yet.
One by one the days ticked by, as I became near-frantic with worry.
Two days before birthday. It was early evening, and I was driving back from getting the car serviced, when I saw the lights of police and fire units ahead. And to my utter horror, I saw that they were in front of and in our driveway.
I parked and began running up as an ambulance left, lights & siren going. But a uniformed arm & hand grabbed my shoulder and stopped me dead in my tracks. "Are you William Mauraack?" a gruff voice said.
"Yes, yes" I said frantically "where's my parents, what's happening?"
"Colonel" cried out another officer "we found the big one!". I looked over, and saw that the old storage barns were floodlit by police & fire units. One of the barns was smoking, with a big hole in the roof, and firemen in protective gear were hauling out big bundles of green plants, under the watchful eyes of the police.
Two firemen and three police officers began walking toward us. One fireman was holding a single plant. As it was carried into the nearer light, I suddenly saw what it was, and my heart sank as he handed it to the Colonel.
"Dagga!" said the Colonel in disgust, as he threw it to the ground. He then turned to a nearby squad car. My eyes followed, and there was my father sitting in the back, handcuffed.
"I think we found the ignition source!" said the second fireman, holding up a pair of tongs that held a blackened object.
It was the still smouldering, charred stump of one of my father's cigars.

Everything was a blur after that. As my head swam, I was barraged with questions, snuffled-over by a drug-Dog, and asked for my drivers license.
But I clearly remembered demanding repeatedly "Where's my mom, WHERE'S MY MOM?!". Soon, another officer came up and had a hushed talk with the Colonel. The Colonel soon went over to the main activity, and the new person came up, escorted me to the front lawn picnic table, and sat down with me.
"William Mauraack" he said "I'm Brigadier Nathaniel Watson".
"May I call you Will?" he asked in a kindly voice "Yes" I squeaked out. "Now I do need to confirm a couple of things" he said "the full names of your father and mother".
"Joseph W Mauraack and Freida P Mauraack" I replied.
"First of all, I want you to know how sorry I feel for all of this. Will, there was a fire in one of those barns over there. Following initial reports from the Fire Captain, your father was questioned and placed under arrest for cultivating marijuana. During this time, your mother experienced a medical emergency, and paramedics were called while one of the firemen rendered emergency aid".
"We believe she was sent to Stellenbosch provincial, but she could have also been sent to Mediclinic. We do not currently know anything about her condition".
"One of our officers is on it and will let us know immediately what he finds out".
I found myself reeling again, and lost track of what else he said. I did recall that Jan and Mark, now adults, and here as members of Fire Brigade number 2, would be staying with me for at least the next two days, since technically, I was still legally a minor, and could not be left at home alone.
They learned the correct hospital, and Brigadier Watson & the fireman that treated her, escorted me there. But mom was in a full coma, totally unaware of anything.
The next day, more news: My father was arraigned and bound over for trial on charges of marijuana production with intent to sell, drug trafficking, tax evasion, and a host of other charges.
The day after that, my birthday: The news reported that a major geographic expedition had come up missing in the Drakensberg, after seismic and visual evidence of a recent & massive cave-in and landslide of epic proportions, with earth displacement believed to be in multiple cubic kilometres.
Included in the list of missing members, Clive Ostler and Dr. Robert Trede.
Two days later, my mom was declared brain-dead.
Days? weeks? months? I couldn't tell any more. I was called into court several times to testify. Though I had nothing to say about the charges against my father, he never once looked at me. He was found guilty of all charges, with sentencing to follow. It was only then, as he was led away, that he finally looked at me, with a scowl.
So when I was informed the next day that he had attacked his cell-mate, and was in turn stabbed and killed, I had no feelings left for him but a dispassionate, empty numbness.
.
Probate investigation revealed three mortgages, two past due, and no will. The banks, courts, and other creditors had claims on it all.
I was now an adult orphan, with zero inheritance or property rights.
Except for the seed shed plot, which was technically still under my annual one Rand lease as a separate property. But without Dr Trede to perform whatever he did to secure it, that would end in weeks, and the plot would revert back to the Stellenbosch Local Municipality, the proper administrators before my father illegally annexed it.
The entire farm property, other than that plot, was seized for forfeiture under drug trafficking laws. I would be allowed to stay in the house without rent, until the completion of title transfer for the house, at which point, I must leave, with no option to rent or lease.
Audits & inventories were held, the "grow-barns" were demolished when investigations were complete, and everything was slated for auction. Caretakers, apiarists, and additional ranch hands were brought in to manage and maintain the vineyards, cattle, chickens, and beehives.
I was not allowed to participate.
My room was audited and all that I personally owned was listed, photographed, and/or tagged as either mine or estate property.

Then one cold day, not long after, a kombi showed up with two handlers from the Wildlife Department, to reclaim Sandey. I remembered one of them from one of Dr Trede's special tour groups a couple of years or so ago. Both confirmed that they were repeat visitors on previous tours,
And both were not happy with what they were about to do.
"At least we got it delayed until the last full day" one said, which gave no consolation.
They brought out the carrier, the nets, and the medkit, as per regulations. And the leash & Falconer's gauntlets.
But as they stopped at the enclosure door, they stood aside. "If you want to bring her out yourself, and say good-byes..." one said.
Which was definitely NOT as per regulations.
With a shaking hand, I opened the door and walked in. Sandey, attentive as usual, flew over and landed on my outstretched, bare arm. She brought her head to my face and nuzzled lovingly, like she had done every day these past years. and with even greater intensity this year.
But now, it elicited feelings not of joy, but of agony.
I exited and while one of the handlers went in with a big bag and gathered up all the feathers & gear, the other slowly led the way back to the kombi and the awaiting carrier. Sandey was calm, but looked puzzled.
So much I wanted to say, so often I had gone over farewell speeches in grim anticipation of this day.
But all I could choke out was "Goodbye Sandey, I love you so". And as I did, she nuzzled her head up to my cheek again, sending my jaw quivering and my tears to free-flow.
I then carefully set her in the carrier, and with a confused look on her face, I closed the carrier door.
Then the sliding kombi door.
I turned away, and the two handlers stood there, arms across each others backs, with their other arms extended towards me. We approached and I joined them in a three-man huddle. And all three of us began wetting the ground with our tears.
"You deserve a lot better than this" one said. "You and Sandey belong together forever" said the other.
I so wanted to join them, to be employed at the Department, and remain Sandey's caretaker. But university was no longer possible and Dr. Trede's dream died with him. And each of us knew that Jack Voorman, heading the new management at the Department, had no love for Trede & his influence, and would hire no one that came under the good Doctor's favour.
They opened up the end doors and loaded up the rest of the stuff and the bagged feathers & gear. "Don't give up" one said "keep trying for a chance to visit with her. And keep applying for a position. Old man Voorman can't stay there forever".
"They know your credentials, they MUST consider you sooner or later".
I so wanted to believe it, but Voorman was also allied with high-ranking members of the Vintners Guild, which itself had made it clear that none of the Mauraack name would ever be allowed to do any sort of business in Stellenbosch or any of The Winelands, ever again.
I would never be considered.
"She will be in a good place" the other said "and receiving the second-best care there is". I started at that statement, and a new feeling of dread came over me.
"Second-best is the way it must be" he continued "because yours is the very best care that any Bird has ever received!"
They then entered the kombi, buckled-in, started up, and began backing out. "Keep trying!" one repeated, "Don't give up!" said the other.
They cleared the driveway and proceeded down the road. I felt like I was being pulled, as if there was a giant elastic cord connecting me and Sandey. Then the kombi turned onto the main road, crested the rise and disappeared, snapping the figurative elastic, which back-lashed me painfully in the chest.
My parents, my brother, my work, my home, my future, Bob Trede & Mr Ostler. And most of all, my dear Sandey, all gone.
I fell to my knees crying. I was all alone.
The last and best part of the wonderful life I knew, was over.

Early the next morning, Sunday, eviction day. No one would be there until the afternoon. Out of consideration, the auditor, in full disregard of regular procedure, told me earlier that if I wanted to avoid the usual armed "escort", that I could just fill out the form and leave it & the keys in an envelope on the table, lock-up, and leave before one o'clock.
I had been loading the few things I owned outright into the car; my paperwork, documents, journals, books, clothing, multi-tool, backpack, mess-kit, duffel bag, and assorted keepsakes & sundries. On me was my wallet, watch, pen & notepad, and about thirty bucks.
And in my large inner vest pocket, a small framed portrait photo of Sandey, taken by Clive Ostler.
I was allowed to take all the fresh, tinned, and packaged food in the fridge & pantries, but no Springhaas or ranch products, except for two racks of comb honey, two jars of pressed honey, two cakes of beeswax, a couple each of Edam & Gouda rounds, two bottles of Spiced Apple-Grape Cider, whatever eggs the hired hands didn't take, and a tote-sack of apples from the trees.
And the last four loaves of my Mom's special Triple-Ginger Pound Cake, which she had just baked the morning of the day she was taken to hospital.
No fresh milk, no grapes, no wine allowed.
There was actually very little food left in the fridge & pantries to take, just a few tins, a couple packs of macaroni, a jar of peanut butter, the spice rack, a string of garlic, four ginger roots, a half-loaf of bread, and in the fridge, nothing remained but assorted vegetables, a frozen coil of boerewors, and a single bottle of Piri-piri sauce.
I grabbed it all, along with the allotted ranch items, boxed & bagged them, putting the fridge stuff in the picnic cooler with ice, and putting them all in the car.
And near the hearth, the very towel and fisherman's basket I originally used to rescue Sandey that fateful day, so long ago. My old bike was donated a few years ago to the local children's rehabilitation clinic, where it was still in use.
With the towel in the basket, and basket in hand, I then made another random, final walk-through of the house:
The den, where my brother and I used to play games, listen to stories, or watch the telly, the second-storey hall, where we would race cars, paper aeroplanes, or other fast & hazardous objects.
The kitchen proper, where we would anxiously await the freshly baked butterscones & cocoa biscuits, and where I would later help mom with the cooking.
Though the kitchen had been inventoried and the cutlery & silver flatware locked-up, the cooking utensils were simply lumped in open boxes as "miscellaneous gear", unnamed and uncounted. So I grabbed the garlic press and potato masher, which I put into the basket. No one would miss them.
I was allowed to take Mom's recipe binder, which was already in the car.
The work-spaces were locked and the auditor had the keys, I could not enter them. Same with the barns, sheds, and paddocks.
The main bathroom, where I had my first shave (and that "thing" that happened in the shower).
My brother's former room, now a sewing nook. In an un-itemized box of "sewing gear", I found my mom's prized gold thimble, passed down through at least three generations. Like the utensils, the contents of the box had not been individually inventoried. There was no note of the thimble.
Into the basket it went.
My parents room. Other than clothing and sundries, everything else had been locked-up in the big dresser and the upright cabinet. And through the cabinet windows, I could see my parent's jewellery and accessories, including, to both my relief and dismay, their wedding rings.
All tagged as inventory.
My own room, where so much of my life unfolded. Nothing I could have or needed remained.
The reading room, and my dear grandfather Philo's roll-top desk, which held among other treasures, his commendations, medals and his magnificent repeating pocket chronometer & chain. I tried rolling it open, but as expected, it was locked. And he had long ago fitted it himself with real double pin-tumbler locks and a special key, instead of the usual skeleton jobs.
It could not be tricked, picked, or jimmied.
And the main room, where I first took Sandey, with the now cold fireplace, and the great wooden carving above the mantle of our Springhaas Farms logo.
And the massive oaken dining table, where we had all our home-cooked meals, and where I made my life-changing decisions and paperwork signings those many years ago. On it now was very different paperwork for me to sign, including a large manila envelope into which I was to deposit the house keys and the signed paperwork before leaving.
I read and signed all the highlighted material, took out my keys, placed them and the paperwork in the envelope, signed & dated it, along with the time, sealed it, and placed it back on the table. But under that envelope was another smaller envelope, saying "for Will". And on the other side,  "Jan, Mark, and Friends".
They had been transferred and moved all the way to Port Elizabeth nearly two weeks ago. Had this been sitting here all that time?
I picked it up, walked out the front door, set the live-bolt, checked thrice again for what I had, and closed the door.
For the very last time.
Then I headed over to Sandey's empty and locked enclosure. The handler was required to gather up the moulted flight feathers and turn them over to the Department, as per the terms of my permit.
But there on the ground in front of the gate was a single tail feather, one of the two "decks". The Department persons could have either dropped or missed it, or she could have dropped it as she was being carried out...
...No, she had finished her tail moult last month.
Could they have REALLY missed it, or was there another reason for it being there?
I picked it up, looked at the enclosure, and for a brief moment, I could almost see her flying over to greet me. Only to dissolve and condense down to that single feather I held in my hand.
I preened it lovingly, sighed, and put it into the basket. The very last bit I would salvage from my former life.
I headed to the car, put the basket in the boot, got into the driver seat, then closed the door.
But what next?
I couldn't stay anywhere in The Winelands, and I knew nothing of Cape Town, outside of my old Table Mountain forays and a handful of family day-treks. Other than my farm & ranch experience, a bit of cooking, and my Bird skills, I had nothing to offer anyone but basic manual labour.
I had my things, I had the car, and I had all the roads ahead of me.
But I had nowhere to go.
And as I sat there, I found myself tapping the steering wheel with the edge of Jan & Mark's rather heavy envelope. We had gotten together and mulled over living & employment ideas weeks ago, but came up dry.
I carefully opened the envelope and found a birthday card. In the card was six hundred forty five Rand in cash, and a message under the printed birthday blurb. It said;
"Get to Kalk Bay Harbour, east of Fish Hoek. Go to the commercial fishing piers and look for a dull yellow fishing boat named "The Golden Dragon". On its gangway will be a bell with a striker rod. Ring out "shave-and-a-haircut", but without the "five bob". Someone should call out "Who goes there?" When they do, say "I'm William, Jan and Mark sent me". Come aboard if he says to, or he will meet you on the pier".
"We think he can help you".
"In the meantime, here is a little something we and the gang at the station collected to tide you over and help you get there. We will get in touch with you as the situation allows".
"Our best wishes for you and a better future. Take care now!"
Jan and Mark Van deKamp
8 May 1990
Those two! I had half a mind to take the long and difficult journey to Port Elizabeth, just to hunt them down and thank them. But that was certainly not their plan for the clandestine letter and the collection. They probably had one of their station friends sneak it in during Wednesday's fire-safety inspection, so that there would be no following after them.
In any case, I didn't have their new address, phone number, or station number.
I put the cash and the card back into the envelope, then into the glove box. I pulled out the road map, found Fish Hoek, spotted Kalk Bay, and traced out the most straightforward route there...
...With one detour.
I started up the car, headed down the driveway, and on to & down the access path.
And with the car, the letter, and the remaining shreds of my former life, I then turned west onto Polkadraai Road.
And on to whatever future awaited.
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