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there is.”
    “She’s not single. She’s got Flip.”
    Amused, Miss Marva gave a little cackle. “Tell me, how much help does he give your mama?”
    I pondered Flip’s responsibilities, which centered primarily around the procurement of beer and the disposal of the cans. Flip also spent a lot of time cleaning his guns, in between the occasions he went to the flamingo range with other men from the trailer park. Basically Flip’s function in our house was ornamental.
    “Not very much,” I admitted. “But why are we keeping Flip if he’s so useless?”
    “For the same reason I keep Bobby Ray. Sometimes a woman needs a man for company, no matter how useless he is.”
    From what I knew of Bobby Ray, I liked him pretty well. He was an amiable old man, smelling of drugstore cologne and WD-40. Although Bobby Ray didn’t officially reside in Miss Marva’s trailer, he could be found there most of the time. They seemed so much like an old married couple that I had assumed they were in love.
    “Do you love Bobby Ray, Miss Marva?”
    The question made her smile. “Sometimes I do. When he takes me to the cafeteria, or rubs my feet while we watch our Sunday-night programs. I guess I love him at least ten minutes a day.”
    “That’s all?”
    “Well, it’s a good ten minutes, child.”
     
    Not long after that, Mama kicked Flip out of our trailer. It was a surprise to no one. Although there was a high tolerance for shiftless males at the trailer park, Flip had distinguished himself as a major league underachiever, and everyone knew a woman like Mama could do better. It was just a question of what the last straw would be.
    I don’t think anyone could have predicted the emu.
    Emus aren’t native Texas birds, although from the number of them to be found, both wild and domestic, you’d have been excused for thinking otherwise. In fact, Texas is still known as the emu capital of the world. It started around ’87 when some farmers brought some of the big flightless birds to the state with the ambition to replace beef as a cash crop. They must have been slick talkers, because they convinced just about everybody that the public would soon be clamoring for emu oil, leather, and meat. So emu producers raised birds to sell to other people to raise birds, and at one point a breeding pair cost about thirty-five thousand dollars.
    Later on when a contrary public didn’t take to the idea of replacing a Big Mac with a Big Bird, the bottom dropped out of the market and dozens of emu ranchers turned their worthless birds loose. At the height of the emu craze, there were plenty of birds to be found in fenced pastures, and like any animal in a restricted area, they occasionally found a way to get past the fence.
    As best I could make out, Flip’s emu encounter happened on one of those narrow country roads in the middle of nowhere, while he was driving back from a dove lease someone had let him in on. Dove season lasts from the beginning of September to the end of October. If you don’t have your own acreage, you can pay someone else for the privilege of hunting their land. The best leases are covered with sun-flowers or corn and feature a water tank, which brings the doves in fast and low, wings flashing.
    Flip’s share of the lease had been seventy-five dollars, which Mama had paid just to get him out of the trailer for a few days. We hoped Flip might be lucky enough to hit some doves we could grill with some bacon and jalapeños. Unfortunately, while Flip’s aim was dead-on when an object was holding still, he couldn’t get the knack of hitting a target in motion.
    Heading back home empty-handed, his gun barrel still hot from the day’s shooting, Flip was forced to stop his truck when the road was blocked by a six-foot-tall blue-necked emu. He honked the horn and shouted at the creature to move away, but the emu wouldn’t budge. It just stood there looking at him with beady yellow eyes. It wouldn’t move even when Flip got his