nonpoisonous snakes, and lizards and tortoises we caught in the desert. A
coyote that seemed pretty tame lived with us for a while, and once Dad
brought home a wounded buzzard that we named Buster. He was the
ugliest pet we ever owned. Whenever we fed Buster scraps of meat, he
turned his head sideways and stared at us out of one angry-looking
yellow eye. Then he'd scream and frantically flap his good wing. I was
secretly glad when his hurt wing healed and he flew away. Every time we
saw buzzards circling overhead, Dad would say that he recognized
Buster among them and that he was coming back to thank us. But I knew
Buster would never even consider returning. That buzzard didn't have an
ounce of gratitude in him.
We couldn't afford pet food, so the animals had to eat our leftovers, and
there usually wasn't much. "If they don't like it, they can leave," said
Mom. "Just because they live here doesn't mean I'm going to wait on
them hand and foot." Mom told us that we were actually doing the
animals a favor by not allowing them to become dependent on us. That
way, if we ever had to leave, they'd be able to get by on their own. Mom
liked to encourage self-sufficiency in all living creatures.
Mom also believed in letting nature take its course. She refused to kill
the flies that always filled the house; she said they were nature's food for
the birds and lizards. And the birds and lizards were food for the cats.
"Kill the flies and you starve the cats," she said. Letting the flies live, in
her view, was the same as buying cat food, only cheaper.
One day I was visiting my friend Carla when I noticed that her house
didn't have any flies. I asked her mother why.
She pointed toward a shiny gold contraption dangling from the ceiling,
which she proudly identified as a Shell No-Pest Strip. She said it could
be bought at the filling station and that her family had one in every
room. The No-Pest Strips, she explained, released a poison that killed all
the flies.