The old lawyer died in his eighties leaving his sister living alone on their small ranch near my home in Vista, California. The old man owned a mansion type home at Laguna Beach, but he preferred living in his very small house close to our place. The house looked run-down, needed paint, the front lawn had weeds and was poorly watered, and the windows had sheets hanging instead of drapes or curtains. A wire fence enclosed the ten acre pasture. The fence protected a herd of very large black cattle imported from Scotland by way of Montana. At first the lawyer had a few pregnant cows and a bull with good pedigrees of an ancient breed. The animals kept multiplying. They were getting crowded because the old man couldn't bear to have any of them used for meat. Newborn calves started dying from overcrowded conditions. Sometimes I talked to the old lawyer or his sister.
They proudly showed me two cars kept covered with sheets in their garage. Both cars were made in Europe to the man's orders, and he bought them and had them shipped here. They were Rolls Royces and each car was worth a great deal of money. The man was frugal and bought only one license plate. He switched the license plate back and forth between the two cars. He only drove the cars to keep the engines lubricated. It gave him pleasure to own them as investments, not toys. His regular car was an old Dodge sedan that usually needed washing. The man did not like to donate to charity and would only give me a quarter when I asked him to give to the Lion's Club white cane drive to buy glasses for poor children. He asked me, "Why should I donate money to have the school kid's eyes examined? Why don't the parents pay for it?"
Nick was a handyman who could weld, build fences, mow lawns, drive tractors and build barns. He worked for the old man for years and knew him well. Nick said, "The old man is my land-lord, and he doesn't raise my rent as long as I keep helping him feed the cows and do odd jobs for three dollars an hour. He spends a fortune on hay feeding all those cattle, and he won't sell any of them. He won't give them away either. And he spends a lot of money on cat food and hamburger. Every day he puts out paper plates full of raw hamburger on his dirt driveway. Dogs and cats come from miles around to eat it, but he can't keep dogs or cats of his own. They run away, I don't know why. I guess he and his sister don't care much for people, but they sure spend money trying to help animals. I think the old man has willed millions to an animal rights organization."
The old man's sister dressed like a farmer too. She wore old long dresses or old bib overalls with long sleeved shirts and a floppy straw hat. She kept the sun off her delicate freckled face better than her brother who always looked sunburned with a red face and chapped lips. Both had very pale blue eyes like some of the old Dutch families. She wore men's boots that looked dusty with dried mud on them. The toes of her boots were cut out to keep her toes from hurting.
Nick talked to me about what happened after the old man died. "His sister became ill and not able to take care of her personal needs. I sent my wife over to bathe her and to give her something to eat. My wife said the smell in that house made her sick. You know, it stays sort of dark in there with the sheets over the windows. And did you know they had been keeping a duck in the house with them for years. I went over there with my wife and we started cleaning the floors. Gosh it was awful. The duck crap had been in there for years and was dried out and stuck to the floors. You should have seen under the sink. It was a mess. And stink? You wouldn't believe it! I've had to do some putrid things in my life, being a plumber and all, but nothing like this. I had to get down on my knees and stick my head under the sink to clean up that god damn duck shit! I almost croaked! We finally got the place clean but it took a week. And we got the old woman to eating better and feeling a little stronger. But she couldn't live there alone. After a few months a lawyer put her in a nursing home in Beverly hills or some place, and they sold the ranch. I don't know who got the Rolls Royces but I sure wish it had been me. When the old man was sick in bed he knew he was going to die. He wouldn't give me any of his cattle. He gave them all away to people who promised not to eat them. They are probably all liars. It would serve him right, the old cheap-skate."