I wake up to a very blue, smelly, sick‑looking cat. After a quick shower and a bite to eat, I head outside to check on Juanita and let her know Maj needs to go to the vet.
She’s in the garden looking like she’s dressed for a space mission.
Tambara: What do you have on?
Juanita: Good morning! This is a beekeeper’s suit. Be careful out here, because they are super riled up. I already got stung twice.
I look around for bees and shrug off her warning.
Tambara: Oh, they wouldn’t dare. Anyway, I need to take my cat to the vet.
Juanita: Oh no. Do you think she’ll be okay?
Tambara: That’s what I’m going to find out.
I pause and look around the garden to see what’s changed.
Tambara: How’s it going out here?
Juanita: Well, I’ve planted and fertilized all the oversized crops. I’ve stocked the grub and beetle boxes, and I’ll take care of planting everything in the greenhouse next.
Tambara: Sounds like a lot…
Juanita: I’ve got it covered.
There’s a very offensive scent in the air. I can only guess the source.
Tambara: If you say so. It smells like crap out here.
Juanita: Oh, that’s Finesse’s manure. It’s what I used to fertilize the dirt.
I’m shocked.
Tambara: And we’re supposed to eat this stuff.
Juanita: Believe it or not, it’s good for the soil.
It doesn’t smell like it, but I’ll have to trust her expertise.
Juanita steps away to continue her work as I stare out at the smelly, freshly formed mounds of dirt in front of me. I don’t know what I was thinking when I thought I could, or would even be willing to, do all of this work. I think about my nails and how they wouldn’t stand a chance out here.
I leave Juanita and arrive at the vet’s office. I check Maj in and sit in the waiting room.
Dr. Watson soon calls us back and leads Maj to the exam table. He takes his time examining her blue fur, her tongue, and her belly.
Dr. Watson: This looks like a case of frozen mange. The good news is it’s easy to treat. The bad news is the treatment is quite costly.
What does he mean by costly? A million simoleons?
Tambara: How much?
I brace myself for the answer.
Dr. Watson: It’s 750 simoleons.
He must be joking. That’s what he calls expensive?
Tambara: You mean 750,000 simoleons?
Dr. Watson: No, 7, 5, 0. Should I proceed?
I almost laugh at the amount.
Tambara: That’s it? I can find that in my couch cushions. Please do.
Dr. Watson gives Maj her so called expensive shot as I brace myself, hoping she’s not in pain.
Maj looks close to normal and very relieved after receiving her treatment.
Dr. Watson: We sell wellness treats in the pharmacy. Maj isn’t getting any younger. I recommend you purchase some and keep them on hand.
I grab Maj off the exam table and heed his advice by heading straight for the pharmacy, because there’s no way I’ll ever be ready to lose her. I’ll buy every treat and pay for all the shots if I have to.
Rain meets us as we arrive back at the ranch. Luckily, I checked the forecast before I left and brought my rain gear along. Juanita is still running around like she’s being graded on hustle. Once again, I’m not interested in her turning my ranch into a slave plantation. I stop her when she returns from taking out a bag of trash.
Tambara: Have you eaten or taken a break yet?
Juanita: No. I just finished planting the greenhouse. But I did cook something… for you. As thanks.
I swear to the Watcher, it better not be goulash.
Tambara: You did?
Juanita: Don’t worry. It’s not goulash this time. It’s much better. I cooked it in your outdoor kitchen.
Tambara: Well, I won’t eat it unless you join me.
Juanita hesitates and looks down at her dirty, wet rain gear.
Juanita: *reluctantly* Okay, but I need a shower first.
Tambara: There are four bathrooms inside. You can use one of those.
Juanita: Thanks, but I set up a camp shower next to the outside toilet.
My nice quota is about to run out if she continues to insist on living like a bum.
Tambara: Do whatever you need to do, and by the way, we need to discuss work hours. Meet me out back in an hour.
I shake my head as I watch Juanita dash off to her outdoor shower.
As I sit outside next to the outdoor fireplace, studying up on horse riding, Juanita walks up looking just as dirty as she did before her shower.
Juanita: Sorry about my clothes. I accidentally dropped them in mud while I was showering.
I can’t help but look her over and judge her appearance. She looks like she just rolled around in Finesse’s manure, making me glad we’re at the outdoor table.
Tambara: Uh, don’t worry. Just sit.
Juanita pulls out a chair and proudly serves me a plate of some decent looking chicken. Thinking about all the manure, bugs, and planting she’s done today, I hope her hands were clean when she made it.
Juanita: It’s called Pollo a la Brasa. I hope you like it.
She continues to stare at me expectantly, like a kid happy to show off a perfect report card, as I take a bite.
The flavors do a little dance on my tongue.
Tambara: Whoa. This is actually really good.
Juanita proudly grins from ear to ear and relaxes into her seat. Seeing the joy on her face makes it possible to ignore the poverty, mud, and chaos that surrounds her.
Juanita: Thanks. I’m glad you like it.
I continue to take small bites while avoiding looking over at Juanita, who is shoveling food into her mouth like she hasn’t eaten in a thousand years. One glance her way and I’d lose my appetite.
After dinner, she gathers the plates and hurries to put them in the dishwasher, with no thought of the mud she might be tracking inside. I approach her.
Tambara: So, let’s talk work hours.
Juanita: Um, okay.
Tambara: I’m thinking 9 to 5. That’s an eight-hour day. Would that work for you?
Juanita: No, ma’am. I have to be up before the sun to start my duties.
Tambara: Before the sun?
Juanita: No respectable hand starts work at 9. I should be up at 6 and no later.
She seems very serious about it.
Tambara: I guess, but you definitely can’t be working all night without taking breaks.
Juanita: So sunup to sundown, then?
That still sounds like a lot. There’s no way I’d do it. But if she feels that strongly about it, who am I to argue.
Tambara: Only if you take a lot of breaks.
Juanita agrees to my terms.
Tambara: And how much do ranch hands get paid?
Juanita: The going rate is 12 simoleons an hour.
My jaw hits the floor.
Tambara: Are you serious?
No wonder the girl was homeless.
Juanita: That’s on the high end. But my room and board is enough.
She can’t be serious. There’s no way she’s working for me for a dusty loft in a barn. Thinking about it is giving me a headache, as poverty often does.
Tambara: That won’t work. Give me a minute to consider what your salary will be.
I step away and sit down in the living room to continue studying. Juanita doesn’t say anything else about the pay. She takes the cue that I’m done talking about it and leaves the house.
As Juanita heads back to the barn, she’s still grateful that Tami is even considering paying her. She would’ve been happy to keep working for room and board, but once again, Tami is showing off her generosity.
As she approaches the barn, she catches a flicker of movement out of the corner of her eye. She turns and sees a man sneaking onto the property. She could stop and call the cops, but there’s no time. Who knows what this guy is here to do?
Juanita hurries over and starts swinging.
Juanita: What are you doing here! You don’t belong here!
Before she knows it, she’s in a full‑on fight with the burglar. She grabs him by the neck and tries to jump on his back, but he’s strong. He effortlessly flips her over, and she hits the dirt hard.
Juanita loses the fight, but it’s enough to make the burglar give up whatever nefarious plans he had. She slowly picks herself up from the dirt and rubs her sore back. The burglar got away, but at least Tami and the ranch are safe for now.
I try to take my mind off Juanita and the hundred million things that need to be done on the ranch. If I want to enter and win the next barrel race, I need to focus on that. I brush my teeth, change into my pajamas, and sit on the ottoman at the foot of the bed, trying to force myself to study.
But Juanita won’t leave my mind.
She reminds me of my dad’s old dog Hiro. Super loyal, loud, always running around trying to please, and happy with whatever scraps you gave him. I hated that dog because he was nothing like our cats Luna and Maj — quiet, regal, independent.
And now here’s Juanita. Willing to work for nothing. Refusing to enjoy a little luxury, like showering indoors. Grinning like she’s never had anything to be proud of before and content with mud, manure, and the constant mess that follows her everywhere.
I don’t understand it and I probably never will.
I refocus on the book, because barrel racing is complicated enough without adding Juanita to the mix.
(Generation 5 Chapter Summaries)
