“What is that thing?” I asked, politely not mentioning his fall.
“A three-toed sloth.” Graham brushed at a twig sticking out of the loops of his navy sweater. The twig left a snagging hole, which would surely have upset the knitter if it had been seen. I had to conclude Graham had not knitted it himself nor had he ever disrespected a hand knit in front of the knitter. A grandmother, perhaps who was only too happy to tell him how many hours were involved in creating something to supply his comfort. No one made that mistake with my grandmother’s hand knits. I still had pristine sweaters, mittens, and hats from childhood in my closet because of just the same sort of behavior when I was still a preschooler.
“Three toes, huh. Per foot or all together?”
“According to the Internet, they’ve got three per foot.” I looked up and tried to do a count of my own. You can’t believe everything you read on the Internet. The creature looked like it had gotten its neck tangled up in a taffy-pulling machine. The reason for the sloth’s tree selection became clear as it reached its neck slowly toward a withered apple barely clinging to the far end of the branch. I held my breath, hoping it wouldn’t end up like Graham, flat on its back, a dazed look in its eyes.
“Well, no matter how many toes it has, it seems to have beaten you hands down.”
“Apparently, I am too heavy for that tree.”
“It looked like that tree actually bucked you off like you were in a bronco-riding contest.”
“I don’t think of tree farmers as the sort of people who attribute animation to their crops.”
“You have a lot of experience with sugar makers?”
“I’ve known a few.”
“It doesn’t look like you’ve had much experience with trees, though. And yes, I am certain there is a lot more going on in the natural world than human beings like to believe. It would make it harder for us to make the choices we do if we gave trees and plants credit for having some sort of consciousness.” I felt my collar getting hot. I didn’t usually spout off my convictions to others. I preferred to offer information in a way that was palatable to the average modern person. I darted a look up at Graham, checking to see if he was likely to call in the guys with the white coats. Instead, he just nodded and looked thoughtful.
“You’ll have to tell me more about how you reconcile your beliefs with a willingness to puncture trees and draw off their vital fluids for your own profit when I’m not up to my gun holster in runaway critters.” He sounded a little snarky. I wondered if he was just embarrassed I’d seen him fall or if I had been too combative in all our previous encounters. Maybe it was just because he hadn’t gotten enough sleep and still had too many animals to round up and not enough help in doing so.
“At the rate you’re going, that’s a conversation you’ll have to anticipate for a long time to come.”
“Not if you do your part and help out an officer in distress.”
“Help out how?” My eyes were drawn to the claws at the ends of each of the three toes. Any desire I’d ever possessed to be a good citizen abandoned me as fast as it did whenever the church nursery was looking for volunteers.
“You are a lot lighter than I am. You could follow this guy up into that tree a lot further than I can without falling.”
“You want me to shimmy up the tree and pry a sloth out of it?”
“That’s right. Nothing to it.”
“Is it even legal for you to ask me to risk my life in the line of your duties?”
“There’s no risk. Look, I’ll stand right below the tree and catch you if you fall.” He stretched out two long arms that looked capable of wrapping tightly around just about anything he’d like. Except a sloth.
“I live on a tree farm. I haven’t fallen out of a tree since I was knee-high.”
“So, last year?”
“Is this really how you ask for a favor?”
“Sorry. Point taken.”
“It’s more the claws that worry me. They look pretty big. As big as maybe . . .”
“A mountain lion’s?”
“I never said I saw its claws. I was too busy noticing its teeth.”
“And its swishy tail.”
“You remember that?’
“I remember that call quite distinctly. Most often our damsels in distress are nowhere near as cute as you.” I felt myself turning hot and simultaneously pleased and nauseated. Most of the time when a guy around here gives me a compliment, he isn’t the one I wish was delivering it. As a matter of fact, all the time. The dating pool has a crack in it the size of the Grand Canyon, and all the juices leaked out about three weeks after high school graduation. Given my track record with men, scampering up the tree seemed a lot less dangerous than standing on the ground making small talk.