DONATE A PAIR
Every pair in my keeping came through one of two doors, and friend, both doors have forms.
Step Right Up — But Correctly
The Memorial Donation
For the rancher, the farmer, and the pet owner standing in a vet's parking lot holding something they can't bring themselves to throw in a bin. I know that parking lot. I've stood in it. Bring it to me and I'll take it serious as a deed.
- Get the vet's note. Signed, saying it all happened lawful and humane. Twenty-nine years, no exceptions, don't test me on this one.
- Fill out my ledger form. Species, county, dates, and one sentence about the animal — the sentence that goes in the book forever. Take your time. Folks cry on this step and that's allowed.
- Hand it to me at the truck. No shipping. Ever. A donation is a handing-over, and a handing-over takes two people and a moment of quiet.
- Get your number. You can visit your pair at any stop, any year, free, for the rest of your life. Carved in the door.
The Legacy Pledge
Now and then a visitor hears the sermon and wants to give more than a dollar. The Legacy Pledge is for those who intend, when their natural time comes, to join the keeping — same as I intend to. It's the most serious thing I offer, and I treat it that way, so don't wink at me when you ask about it.
- Write me a letter of intent. Your own words, your own hand. I read every one twice, once at the desk and once at the wheel.
- Do the notarized paperwork. With your own attorney, filed with your estate. I keep a model form in the truck. It's laminated.
- Get your family's blessing. No pledge goes in my book over a family's objection. I collect keepsakes, not grudges.
- Receive the yellow shirt and your reserved ledger line. The line stays blank, Lord willing, a good long while.
I Aim to Keep Every Species
the Lord Saw Fit to Hang a Pair On
That is not bragging, that is the mission statement. Below is the census, kept current in my own hand. Check it before you write me — if your species has an empty box next to it, friend, you and I need to talk, because you might be the one who completes a line in the book.
✔ In the Keeping 42 SPECIES • 312 PAIRS
☐ Still Hunting WRITE ME IF YOU CAN HELP — LAWFULLY
★ The Dream Jars A MAN NEEDS A HORIZON
✘ Never DON'T EVEN WRITE THE LETTER
Painted on My Trailer Door Since 1997
- No living removals. Of anything. From anybody. The Tabernacle honors what already happened — it causes nothing, ever.
- No shipping, no mystery coolers, no unsealed containers, no "just see what's in there, Reggie." No.
- I don't buy pairs. The keeping is built on gifts, and a gift can't be bought.
- Consent, paperwork, provenance — or the conversation ends polite and final.
- What I take in, I keep forever. I have never given one back and I never will. Forever means forever in this truck.
Pledge No. 001 Is Mine
First legacy pledge ever registered has my own signature on it, notarized in Kingman, filed with my attorney. When my number's called, I join the keeping in the Oatman hall, under a brass plaque I've already worded and paid for.
I don't bring it up to be admired. I bring it up because a keeper who exempts himself ain't a keeper — he's a landlord, and the world's got plenty of those.
Rather Help with Dollars? Also Fine!
The building fund takes dollars exactly one way: folded into the coffee can at the truck, by your own hand, in person. No internet, no mail, no checks, no exceptions. Every cent goes in the ledger in pen and the ledger sits open on the folding table at every stop. Come audit me. Bring the kids.