Just the word “improvise” would set Bernie off, and she’d begin laughing. And we’d have to wait until she stopped.

“In those days, there was a store in Cardston run by this Mormon family. They sold all sorts of used stuff, household and farming. Some of it was okay, and some of it was garbage, and if you didn’t know the difference, the Mormons weren’t going to tell you.

“So, after Leroy sobered up, he rode over to Cardston to that store and bought an old milk pail, one of those zinc things with a wood piece for a handle. It was a sorry sight, that bucket. There was a story in the newspapers not long ago about a woman who collects junk like that.”

“Now they’re called antiques,” Mimi told her mother.

“So, Leroy took his junk antique and filled it with fresh cow flops. He mixed in some water, stirred it all up until it was brown and pasty, and went to work. He wasn’t sloppy either. He took his time and painted every inch of the house with cow poop. From a distance, it didn’t look bad at all. And as long as you were upwind, you didn’t notice the smell.”

SO WE’RE IN PRAGUE.

Off in the distance, at the far end of the Charles Bridge, Mimi is making her way back through the crowds. I’ve read the caution in the guidebook about pickpockets, and I pay close attention to the people around her. Not that she has anything to steal. I have the passports and most of our cash.

But thieves wouldn’t know that.

When she gets to where I’m standing, she shakes her head. “You were in combat mode again.”

“No, I wasn’t.”

“You were watching me like a hawk, in case someone accosted me.”

“I was enjoying the view.”

“And then you were going to rush to my aid. Rescue me from the ogre, slay the dragon.” Mimi puts her arms around me. “So, which demon is this?”

“We should go to the Kafka museum. Oz said the statues in the courtyard are worth seeing.”

“Oz?”

“A guy I met at breakfast.”

“You made a friend?”

“He’s not a friend.”

“If you had more friends, maybe you wouldn’t spend so much time with your demons.”

WHEN THE INDIAN AGENT returned and found his house painted with cow shit, he wasn’t impressed. According to Bernie, he stormed around the reserve trying to find who was responsible. Everybody knew it was Leroy, but no one said a word.

“Course Leroy wasn’t one to leave well enough alone, and each time the agent left the reserve to go to Lethbridge or to Calgary or wherever Indian agents went in those days, Leroy would get out his milk pail and his brush and go to work.”