Animal Control [Flo/Slim]
Flo waited patiently for his explanation. and felt mildly guilty that her question had spooked him into answering. She assumed he had a purpose for coming by, it wasn’t like Slim came around to hang out and chat.
“Aw, how’s Maybelle holding up?” She asked, finishing her coffee and setting the mug down on the table next to her chair on the porch. She stood, stepping inside the cabin just long enough to move the mug into the sink inside and grab her bag and guns before closing the door behind her.
“I don’t mind tagging along. Maybe you can teach me a thing or two about long-range shooting,” she offered, smiling slightly at him. “I was always more of a get-in-your-face type girl. Shotguns and fists. The longest range weapon I’ve ever consistently used is a pistol.”
Slim felt bad. Poor Maybelle loved her chickens like someone else might love their dog or cat. It was a new thing to him, but he could find no fault with it. It was sweet, and the fact that he hadn’t been able to stop it from happening felt horrible. But at least there was a chance he could at least keep it from happening again any time soon.
“She’s upset, but Betty’s over there with here so...she ain’t alone. Louisa was gonna go over and sit with for a while too,” he paused when she stepped inside, then spoke up just a little so that she could still hear him, ““I woulda asked Matthew or Grant, but they’s off on a run with Holly, she ain’t been wantin’ to go out alone lately.”
He let out a breath of relief when she returned with her bag and guns, offering a small grateful smile. Which quickly faded when she spoke. It was not so much that he was opposed, but more that he didn’t have a clue how to go about that. He remained silent fort a little while, brows furrowing in thought as they crossed the settlement, “I ain’t never liked gettin’ up close. I mean...I will if I got to but...I dunno...guess I took too many beatin’s as a kid or somethin’. And...”
He trailed off, feeling his ears redden. He’d not yet told anyone about what happened with Martin Phelps. Matthew and the others knew. They’d been there, but he couldn’t bring himself to talk about it. No matter how kind the person seemed to be. He kept his eyes on the ground -- mostly to look for sign of the mongrels, but also to avoid looking at Flo -- and gave a light shrug, “Ain’t real sure I’d be any good at teachin’. Don’t reckon I’m smart enough for that kinda thing. Might do better askin’ Boyd...o-or Holly. They’re both real smart.”
