WHEN I WAS five Mom and
Dad rented a house in the Napa Valley, and
Dad befriended a man called Frenchie Meyers who wore suspenders and owned a junkyard nearby — fifty acres covered in thirty - foot heaps
of smashed
cars, flattired trailers full
of old glass doorknobs, two aircraft hangars (one stuffed full
of forklifts, tractors, and power tools and guarded by Sam, a glass - blue - eyed wolf dog, the other converted into a machine shop and guarded by an anvil
of a bulldog
named Jezebel).