Page 16 of My Ex-Military Mountain Man

"No," Nicole agrees, disposing of the used supplies. "But she's choosing to cooperate rather than fight us at every turn. That's a form of wisdom, I think. Recognizing when resistance costs more than it saves."

The conversation touches territory I typically avoid, yet Nicole's approach, direct but compassionate, makes it feel less threatening than it should.

"What's the treatment plan for today?" I ask, more from genuine interest than a need to change the subject.

Nicole outlines the day's schedule of medications, physical therapy exercises, and monitoring parameters.

"I'd like to take some measurements of the sanctuary's rehabilitation enclosures," she adds when the eagle's care plan is complete. "To compare with standard protocols for raptor rehabilitation. Your setup might offer improvements worth documenting."

"Of course," I reply without hesitation. "I can show you the raptor recovery progression we use. It's modified from the Audubon Society protocol."

She smiles, genuinely pleased by the offer. "Perfect. After lunch, perhaps? I want to update my notes on the eagle's progress first."

"I'll be working on the new deer enclosure extension until then. The north side of the property," I say, finding myself looking forward to continuing our conversation later. "You can find me there when you're ready."

"I will," she assures me.

For the next several hours, I lose myself in construction work. Setting posts, securing crossbeams, measuring and re-measuring to ensure everything is precisely aligned. The physical demands center me, but unlike most days, my mind isn't seeking escape from unwanted thoughts. Instead, I find myself considering Nicole's observations, her questions, even anticipating what she might think of the new enclosure design.

By noon, I've made significant progress on the framework. I'm securing the last corner post when I sense a presence nearby. Iturn to find Nicole standing at the edge of the construction area, two containers in her hands, Max sitting patiently beside her.

"Thought you might be hungry," she says, holding up what appears to be lunch. "And I was curious about this project."

"Thanks," I say, genuinely pleased by her thoughtfulness. "You didn't have to do that."

She walks over, handing me one of the containers as I set down my tools. "Consider it payment for the architecture tour I'm about to request."

The container holds a sandwich, an apple, and what appears to be homemade trail mix. Simple, practical fuel for physical labor.

"You made this?" I ask.

"Basic survival skill," she replies with a teasing smile. "The ability to assemble a sandwich isn't exactly culinary expertise."

We settle on a stack of lumber at the edge of the construction site. Max lounges in a patch of sunshine nearby, apparently content with whatever Nicole has already fed him. The autumn air is crisp but pleasant, the sun warm enough to make this impromptu outdoor meal enjoyable.

"So, what is this going to be?" Nicole asks, gesturing toward the framed structure.

"Specialized rehabilitation space for leg injuries," I explain, finding myself elaborating more than I typically would. "Gradual elevation changes, varying terrain, controlled areas for testing weight-bearing progression."

Nicole's eyes light with professional interest. "That's brilliant, actually. Most facilities have flat, uniform surfaces that don't prepare animals for real-world conditions."

"Exactly," I agree, feeling a surge of satisfaction at her understanding. "A deer that can walk on level ground in captivity might still fail in the forest if it can't navigate slopes and uneven terrain."

"Have you published anything about your rehabilitation designs?" she asks. "This kind of innovation could benefit the field significantly."

I shake my head. "I'm not in this for professional recognition."

"Clearly," she says with a gentle laugh. "But sharing knowledge isn't about recognition, Jack. It's about helping more animals beyond the ones lucky enough to find their way here."

I've never considered the sanctuary's methods as potentially valuable to the wider wildlife rehabilitation community.

"I don't have the academic credentials to publish in veterinary journals," I say.

Nicole takes a bite of her sandwich, considering this. "You have the results, though. And I have the credentials. We could collaborate."

"Collaborate?" The idea is surprising but not as alarming as it would have been yesterday.

"A case series on your rehabilitation techniques, with outcome data. Nothing that would compromise your privacy or the sanctuary's location," she adds. "Just the methodologies and results. I could handle the academic framework, you would provide the technical expertise and data."

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