“There will be fits of rage, roundhouse punches thrown without provocation, or, at least very little provocation. Arguing for no reason whatsoever, or, very little reason. Going off half-cocked, plus temper tantrums galore. Do you understand?”

“How will I know the difference, Doctor? Ever since I found them all hiding, high and mighty, scrunched down in their barn, guarding the Barkley nest egg Nick has been exactly, 100% like you just described, even worse, lots worse. Just last night before he was bitten by that rabid wolf he roundhouse punched me twice and picked my boot once as I tended his rabid bite. And I’m his half brother by a different mother! Doc, I’m desperate for clarity and for some of that laudanum you’re hoarding.”

“Oh, so you’re the new bastard I heard tell about? Well, all of Northern California has heard of you. And most of Southern California, right down to Malibu and South Central as well. You’re sixth in the line for the (BB) Barkley Boodle I hear, correct, bastard?”

“Boy-howdy! My name is Heath, not bastard, sawbones! You think that six month medical degree you have hanging crooked there on that wall means something? It doesn’t. I had more money in my left boot before Nick lifted it than you have in your whole mattress that Nick is now laying on and probably pilfering as we wrangle about this and about that. And I’m entitled to what is rightfully mine. I’ve fought thru the Civil War, the Revolutionary War, the Indian War with Custer at Little Big Horn, plus I’m up for the lead in “The Ballad of Andy Crocker” returning from the bush, and not Audra’s, but, Joey’s, so don’t even start about Audra. She’s as pure as the driven snow in Donner’s Pass. And I’m no longer sixth. I’m fifth. My half-brother Eugene came up missing shortly after I came up declaring.”

Doc: “Joey’s?” To-him-self.

Doc: “Don’t get touchy, bast, I mean Heath. We don’t get much gossip here about unless it comes from The Big Valley. Your family is always up to something; sticking their noses into everybody else’s business, running the whole valley, which you own, like from Northern California right to the tip of Southern California, East to the border of the Cartwright spread, and let me tell you Ben has quite a spread, but, nothing compares to the spread that Miss Victoria Barkley presents, huh, kid? You ever get a peek at that ankle bracelet, maybe carve a knot hole out of an out house, catch a glimpse thru a keyhole, get a look at a ‘private’ family stereo-graph, or, three, huh, kid?”

Heath cold-cocked him with a roundhouse left.

“Nobody talks about mother like that. Nobody.”

The doctor picked himself up, dusted himself off and made it right:

“Sorry, Heath. I haven’t been roundhouse punched like that since I’m going to be once I present my bill to your half brother there pilfering thru my mattress. Which reminds me, half/son, if I may be so bold?”

“Watch it, old timer, I’ve been thru more wars than old glory, but, still just shy of 21-years-old.”

“I have good news, Heath; I just got a shipment of blue eye shadow in for your mother and I came across your father’s balls the other day during inventory. Let me get the hermetically sealed mayonnaise jar that contains Tom Barkley’s balls. It also has some sealed envelopes inside addressed to some guys named Carson and McMahon. I did your father’s autopsy, God rest his soul. Here.”

Heath Barkley, nee bastard wanted to roundhouse punch the doctor again, but, was absolutely flummoxed to be holding the jar that held Tom Barkley’s Balls (TBB).

“The hermetical seal sure keeps them fresh, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, and my father’s balls as well.”

“What’s your prognosis, Doc?”

“Well, if you don’t break the hermetic seal your father’s bal...”

“No, Doc, my rabies prognosis!”

“Oh, sorry, legitimate son, there’s a 60-day incubation period for rabies. If you’re still alive after that you’ll mostly likely stay that way, give or take 60 years. That’ll be five dollars.”