Farewell, Esther

It was a bittersweet day at the ayatollah compound. Esther, our polygamist-sect foster child, was reunited with her parents last night. While we were happy to see the smile on her face, we were also saddened by the realization that she hadn't yet had the time to repaint our chimney or repair our leaning fence. Still, the compound has never been cleaner, and we owe a debt of gratitude to Esther and her strong fundamentalist work ethic. God willing, our application for a foreign-exchange student will be approved, and our other household projects will be taken care of in short order.


Before she left, Esther presented Wendell and me with the outfits she had been sewing for us. Wendell, overcome with puppy excitement, immediately tried his on.



"Esther," I barked, "I think I will save mine for a special occasion."

Sect's big day in court

Today, my flock, a momentous ruling was handed down. An appeals court found that the state of Texas greatly overstepped its bounds when it seized more than 400 children from a polygamist sect ranch in Eldorado. I had long expected such an outcome, as the state's case seemed rather dubious from the start. Several weeks ago, officials with Child Protective Services played up the number of children from the ranch who had suffered broken bones. But those who bothered to look into the numbers would find that the percentage of sect children who had broken bones was actually lower than that of the general population. Children, you see, are clumsy.

The ruling means that our foster child, Esther, could soon be returning home to the ranch. Though she is enjoying her stay at the ayatollah compound, she was clearly pleased with the thought of reuniting with her mother. So Wendell and I took her to a karaoke club this evening to celebrate.

Having led a sheltered life, Esther did not know any of the popular-music selections available -- not even the classic "Baby Got Back." So she instead performed an a capella version of one of the songs she'd learned at the Yearning for Zion Ranch. The audience quickly grew restless, and I feared that tomatoes would fly. But thankfully, Wendell and I were able to defuse the situation and win over the crowd with a stirring rendition of our old standby, "Ebony and Ivory."

Raising the roof

I awoke early Monday morning to a thud on the roof. Then another. Wendell and I did what any self-respecting canines would do: We barked. And we surveyed the house. From room to room we ran, and in each spot the pounding persisted overhead. Was the compound under attack, perhaps by those nefarious chew toys? Or were the members of the Jedi church wing of Pug Life Ministries right -- had space aliens arrived? We returned to the bedroom to wake our parents, who for some reason were trying to sleep through the racket. "Mugsy," father said groggily, "it's just the roofers. Remember? They're replacing the roof."

I gave father a cold, piercing, incredulous stare. Nearly $5,000 of my rawhide fund, gone forever. And all because of his impetuous impatience.

True, the roof needed to be replaced. It was bombarded, along with every other home in the neighborhood, by a furious hailstorm. Why Allah had sent this wrath down upon my humble abode, I cannot say. But I suspect He was punishing me for not selling enough merchandise and raising enough money to serve His purpose. God willing, my beloved flock's generosity will spare me from a recurrence of this maelstrom.

Yes, the roof needed to be replaced. But to hire professionals, when our polygamist-sect child Esther had almost finished reading the shingles chapter of her Popular Mechanics library book, this was just too much. "Father," I barked, "I don't even know who you are anymore."

So far, so good

Esther, our new foster child, seems to be adapting well to her new environment. With its satellite TV, wireless Internet and squeaking toys, the ayatollah compound is worlds apart from Esther's old home on her cloistered West Texas ranch. The technology of the modern world was completely foreign to young Esther, but she has already mastered the dishwasher and vacuum. God willing, she will take to the hedgetrimmers with similar aplomb and lack of bloodshed.

Esther misses her mother greatly, but she has confided in me that she is happy to be away from the Yearning for Zion Ranch. Though she described certain idyllic charms consistent with a typical third-world upbringing, Esther also spoke of an atmosphere of cruelty at the polygamist compound. Worst of all, she said, was the constant teasing and ridicule of the other children, who had been calling her a spinster since her 11th birthday.