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For the first time in all those years, Joa
As the school bus turned left and started down Double Adobe Road, Tigger whined and began pacing back and forth in the seat, wanting to follow the bus. The sound of his whine burst through Joa
“Sit,” Joa
Off High Lonesome and heading west on Highway 80, Joa
When Bisbee native Dr. Amos Buckwalter returned to Bisbee as a newly minted vet with a teenaged bride some twenty years after the begi
All her life Joa
According to local gossip, Kitteridge had gone on to devil the city fathers by having the remains of both a gas station and another garage transported to the same site. For years the two not-quite-co
When Melvin Kitteridge died at age ninety-one, his heirs had been only too happy to unload the whole shebang at bargain-basement prices. Dr. Amos Buckwalter was the purchaser. Bucky Buckwalter had worked construction for years before earning enough money to attend college. He and his energetic but exceedingly young wife, Terry, had hauled out our truckloads of junk and then remodeled what was left, transforming the separate shells of garage and service station into a single building to serve as a clinic for small animals. Thirty yards away, across an expanse of red-graveled parking lot, they added a barn and corral for use with some of their larger patients.
Joa
As Joa
Kevin’s presence meant that whatever was happening in front of the Buckwalter Animal Clinic had been deemed newsworthy. That was worrisome to Joa
Stepping out of the stopped Blazer, Joa
“I want this man off my property,” he shouted, waving a fist in the protester’s direction. “He’s been here two days in a row now, and I want him gone.”
All the while Kevin Dawson’s camera finger continued to click away.
Still unable to see the sign the unidentified man held over his shoulder, Joa
Bucky didn’t stop his advance until he and the other man were almost face-to-face, although the guy with the sign stood a good head taller than the diminutive vet. To compensate for his size, Doc Buckwalter customarily wore a pair of Tony Lama boots complete with two-inch heels, but even they didn’t help very much in this instance. Had the two men squared off physically right then, Joa
“This is private property,” he raged. “Like I said on the phone,” he added, turning to Deputy Pakin. “Either get him out of here or arrest him for trespassing.”
“I’m on the right-of-way side of the fence,” the other man returned calmly, gesturing with his sign in a way that, de-pending on your point of view, might have been considered brandishing. “I’m here exercising my right of free speech and passing out some literature, Dr. Buckwalter. You can’t stop me from doing that.”
“I’m afraid that’s true, Doc,” Deputy Pakin said, speaking respectfully and sounding genuinely conciliatory toward both sides. “As long as Mr. Morgan here stays on this side of the cattle guard and fence, he’s on public property. Since he isn’t disrupting traffic, there’s not much we can do. Why don’t you just go on inside and let him be?”
“He may not be disrupting traffic, but he’s certainly disturbing my business,” Anus Buckwalter complained. “He was here half the night with his damned candlelight vigil. Now he’s interfering with my customers.”
“I haven’t done anything to your customers,” the other man returned. “All I’ve done is offer them one of my brochures.”