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SUSAN JOHNSTON OWEN

SITE OWNER/MUSICIAN, WRITER,ARTIST, ELEMENTARY AND SPECIAL EDUCATION TEACHER (RETIRED)

 


Great stories by my friend Hoppy


It's rare, when you find a wonderful storyteller who takes you back in time for a delightful journey. I'm placing these on my site just as told in his journals. Of course he gave me permission. I hope that you enjoy them as much as I do.

HOPPY MEETS A NEW WOMAN  NEW 4/3/2013

Someone ask me why I write so much about hunting, guns and drinking. I told him I write what I know about, things I did, things I saw others do. I’m too old and used up now to learn and experience much new stuff. Looking back, it was a fun ride.     For a few brief moments last evening, I thought I’d be writing this from a hospital bed. Everything started when Dale, pal from my old days, came by. We talked awhile, then Dale suggested we go to our old hangout and have a beer. At first I resisted arguing that the place changed owners awhile back and won’t be the same but, after much urging by ol’ Dale, I gave in. Dale drove into the familiar parking lot in front of the little blue and white painted saloon beside the highway on the South edge of town. There were quite a few cars and pickups parked there but Dale wedged into a slot between a grain truck and an older Dodge Power Wagon. On entering the building, I noted nothing had changed. Two pool tables on the right of the door, both in use, bar on the left of the
door. Dale led the way to the only two empty stools at the bar and we were soon sharing a pitcher of ice cold beer served up by a friendly older barmaid. Pool balls clicking in the background, pin ball machine dinging, juke box blaring a country song by some big city cowboy and loud talking and laughter, all familiar sounds to my old ears. Only things missing was the tobacco smoke.
We finished the pitcher of beer and Dale said he was about ready to go but first had to visit the restroom. I bought another glass of beer as I waited at the bar. Then, trouble walked in. A woman came in the door and seeing the only vacant seat at the bar was the one Dale had left, came over and seated herself beside me and ordered a whisky and Coke.  She was fifty-ish, reddish brown hair hung down to her waist and her face had a slight “rode hard” look. Otherwise, she was big on top and well rounded on the bottom, just as I like ‘em. Being a gentleman, I introduced myself, learned her name was JoBelle and we were deep in conversation when Dale returned. He wanted to leave, but I wanted to stay and talk more to my new friend. Since there were a few others I knew in the bar, I assured Dale I could get a ride home. So, Dale left and I turned my attention to JoBelle. Many drinks later, we were well acquainted, talking, joking and laughing.  She was leaning against me so I put my arm around her. She didn’t seem to mind a bit. Everything changed in a flash, JoBelle was flung screaming, backwards to the floor. I turned to see a big, rough looking dude tightly holding a handful of her long hair. I remember standing up thinking “I can’t fight anymore. How’m I gonna handle this”? Everyone in the bar had stopped talking and their attention was focused on us.Well, big dude let go JoBelle’s hair and yelled something at me about messing with his wife. Then before I could react, he pulled a knife and stabbed me right in the belly. I grabbed my wound with my hands, feeling the warm blood spurting out.   The mug of coffee I was sipping as I watched TV had spilled on my stomach when I dozed off in my recliner. Tell you what, I was
never so happy over spilled coffee in my life.

 

 

DARYL'S BIG WRECK
In my 11th year, I remember a fine hot summer morning. Dad and gramps took the old flatbed truck and left for another farm auction. My instructions for the day were to change oil in dad's Buick, hoe the garden and clip the grass growing around the foundations of the house and all the outbuildings. Dad knew I couldn't do all that in a day, he just hated to see anyone idle who could be working. Especially me.
Anyway, I flung open the garage doors, got my drip pan and a wrench and wiggled under the old Buick. The dirt garage floor was cool, the day was hot, so I just lay there waiting for the oil to drain out. It was relaxing to lay listening to the sounds. Birds chirping, chickens making chicken noises, pigs grunting as they rooted around their pen, windmill creaking as it slowly turned in the breeze, kitchen screendoor slamming, little brother Daryl walking around singing some silly made-up song. I dozed off.

But not for long. First came a scream, followed by a strange crashing, wood splintering sound, irate chickens squaking, screendoor slamming, mom and granny yelling. I sat up, forgetting where I was and cut my forehead open on the underside of the Buick. Blood streaming down my face, I ran out of the garage in time to see mom and granny escorting a sobbing, terrified Daryl toward the house, no doubt to stuff with milk and cookies. No one noticed my face, smeared with blood. Mom sent our sister Angel out to the back field to get big brother Ike, who was doing some cultivating. Ike's old Ford 'A' was sticking out of the side of the chicken house.

Our garage was large enough to hold dad's Buick and one of our tractors. The ground on one side of the garage was steeply sloped down toward the chicken yard and house, down into the front pasture to a creek bottom. Ike always parked his car on that side of the garage. The gas barrel was on the level opposite side. Ike would cramp the front wheels hard toward the uphill and shut it off, left in reverse gear. That way, it couldn't roll anywhere, unless someone named Daryl was pretending to drive, shifted into neutral while turning the wheels the opposite direction and was unable to stomp on the brake when the car started rolling down the steep slope.

Ike and Angel came putting up on the tractor. We surveyed the damage. Big hole in fence, big hole in chicken house, broken headlights on Ford, piece of board sticking out of Ford's radiator. Other than that, everything was fine.

Ike sent me in to get my cut head fixed. Mom cleaned my cut while Daryl munched cookies. Granny got gramp's jar of 'shine to dab on my cut. It was our standard antiseptic. While they were looking for the bandages, I managed to sneak a healthy pull on the jar. Once bandaged, I went out to help Ike.

Well, we got the car back up by the garage, repaired the fence and was nailing scrap lumber over the break in the chicken house when dad and gramps rattled up in the truck. Dad wanted to know why we were fixing a big hole in the chicken house. Ike told him what happened. Dad looked at me and said 'Damn boy, can't ya watch your lil' brother just once? Ya know how he is'. Somehow I knew it was going to be my fault.

Things got repaired, Ike got his car running again, and Daryl got off scott free. Dad wasn't really picking on me. He was strict but not overly so. Daryl seemed to get all the attention. Even more than Angel. That seemed strange, with her being the only girl. But, that's how it was that summer of 1951

Submitted By: Hoppy from IA on 2009-11-12

 


Someone ask me why I write so much about hunting, guns and drinking. I told him I write what I know about, things I did, things I saw others do. I’m too old and used up now to learn and experience much new stuff. Looking back, it was a fun ride.     For a few brief moments last evening, I thought I’d be writing this from a hospital bed. Everything started when Dale, pal from my old days, came by. We talked awhile, then Dale suggested we go to our old hangout and have a beer. At first I resisted arguing that the place changed owners awhile back and won’t be the same but, after much urging by ol’ Dale, I gave in. Dale drove into the familiar parking lot in front of the little blue and white painted saloon beside the highway on the South edge of town. There were quite a few cars and pickups parked there but Dale wedged into a slot between a grain truck and an older Dodge Power Wagon. On entering the building, I noted nothing had changed. Two pool tables on the right of the door, both in use, bar on the left of the
door. Dale led the way to the only two empty stools at the bar and we were soon sharing a pitcher of ice cold beer served up by a friendly older barmaid. Pool balls clicking in the background, pin ball machine dinging, juke box blaring a country song by some big city cowboy and loud talking and laughter, all familiar sounds to my old ears. Only things missing was the tobacco smoke.
We finished the pitcher of beer and Dale said he was about ready to go but first had to visit the restroom. I bought another glass of beer as I waited at the bar. Then, trouble walked in. A woman came in the door and seeing the only vacant seat at the bar was the one Dale had left, came over and seated herself beside me and ordered a whisky and Coke.  She was fifty-ish, reddish brown hair hung down to her waist and her face had a slight “rode hard” look. Otherwise, she was big on top and well rounded on the bottom, just as I like ‘em. Being a gentleman, I introduced myself, learned her name was JoBelle and we were deep in conversation when Dale returned. He wanted to leave, but I wanted to stay and talk more to my new friend. Since there were a few others I knew in the bar, I assured Dale I could get a ride home. So, Dale left and I turned my attention to JoBelle. Many drinks later, we were well acquainted, talking, joking and laughing.  She was leaning against me so I put my arm around her. She didn’t seem to mind a bit. Everything changed in a flash, JoBelle was flung screaming, backwards to the floor. I turned to see a big, rough looking dude tightly holding a handful of her long hair. I remember standing up thinking “I can’t fight anymore. How’m I gonna handle this”? Everyone in the bar had stopped talking and their attention was focused on us.Well, big dude let go JoBelle’s hair and yelled something at me about messing with his wife. Then before I could react, he pulled a knife and stabbed me right in the belly. I grabbed my wound with my hands, feeling the warm blood spurting out.   The mug of coffee I was sipping as I watched TV had spilled on my stomach when I dozed off in my recliner. Tell you what, I was
never so happy over spilled coffee in my life.


GRAMPS TRICKS ME BY HOPPY
Early summer, a few days before our country school closed for the summer vacation, Angel and I returned home. Angel went into the house, and I just had to see what gramps was doing. He had removed the grassy top layer from a large square area of back yard and was digging out the inside of the square. I asked what he was doing. He said 'digging'. So, I waited for the explanation I knew was coming. 'Gonna put in a septic tank', gramps explained.
I watched him dig awhile, then turned to go in the house. Gramp's 'well, looky here' stopped me in my tracks. I turned to see him rubbing something on his shirt sleeve. Then he grinned and held up a shiny silver dollar. ' I wonder if this could be the loot from the stagecoach robbery near here, back in Jesse James’ time'? I was hooked. 'Wow'. My eyes must have been as big as that silver dollar. 'kin I help dig', I asked. He gave me his spade instructing me to dig evenly across the hole, throw the dirt away from the edge a bit, keep the sides straight, don't let them taper in, yadayada.

Gramps went in the house, came back with a bottle of beer, sat himself down in the shade of our workshop/tool shed, rolled a smoke and watched. Suppertime came. I eagerly ran in to eat, wolfing down a few bites of everything and rushing back to digging. Gramps came in to eat as I was heading back out.

A few shovels of dirt and I heard a 'thunk' from my spade. With mounting excitement, I uncovered a piece of board. On picking it up, a silver dime lay under the board, gleaming up at me. I was so excited I almost peed. Gramps inspected the coin, looked over the board and told how robbers held up a stage further up the road from our place. They had to bury the strongbox because it was too heavy to tote and posse would soon be coming. That piece of board must be from the strongbox.

I dug furiously until after dark. Mom called me to come in. 'Ok mom, just a few more shovels'. About an hour later dad yelled out the back door, ' Hop,git your butt in here'. On entering the kitchen, I noted all the family was gathered at the kitchen table, trying their best not to laugh. Even Ike. Slowly it dawned on me. There never was a stagecoach robbery. Gramps just wanted to see how much of his work he could get me to do. I've been duped. Gramps held up his silver dollar, cackled and shook his head. All I had was a dime for digging away the evening.

Fun times, those.

Submitted By: Hoppy from IA on 2009-11-11

 


 

First Deer Hunt
When my dad came home from WW2, I was about 5 1/2 years old. I have no memory of dad before then. He enlisted right after Pearl Harbor. I was a bit over 1 year old. When he came home, dad and my grandparents pooled their money and bought a farm.
The huge old farmhouse was plenty large enough for dad and mom, gramps and granny, my big brother Ike, Lil' brother Daryl and younger sis Angel. I must have been about ten years young when gramps decided it was high time I contributed something to the family larder. He was going to teach me the art of deer hunting. As he put it, 'He ain't gittin any smarter. Best teach 'im now afore he gits too dumb to learn'. Gramps was a gruff old codger but could be as soft as warm butter on occasion.

Our farm only had about an acre or two of trees and brush in the back where our land joined a cousin's farm. Cuz had about 200 acres of nice woods. They didn't like us much so we couldn't hunt there. Except Ike. He was 10 years older than I was and pretty much hunted wherever he wanted. So, we headed for a very large tract of timber along a river.

Gramps and Ike scouted the area earlier. They hunted here near every year so they knew the lay of things. Being next to a river meant it flooded every spring so a game trail that was there last year may be changed this year.

Anyway, we got there before daylight. Gramps led the way to a spot along a game trail where a tree had fallen, catching it's top in the crotch of a neighboring tree. the fallen tree formed a natural ramp up into the standing tree. Gramps told me to get my butt up there. When I got settled he handed up our one gun and climbed up, settling himself next to me. Ike went on to another location.

We only brought one gun, gramp's 16 Gauge single shot shotgun. He said he would get his deer later, this was my hunt. Gramps had loaded his own shells with his home made slugs. He made me shoot out behind the barn, at empty coffee cans until I could hit one each shot at about thirty feet. 'You ain't gonna shoot at anything past that', he advised.

I'll always remember his words that cold fall morning. 'Don't move from now on. If ya gotta look, just move your eyeballs. Don't scratch, whisper, fart, nothin. Squirrels'll be runnin 'round all over. Fergit them. Any deer will be on that trail right under us. Point that gun barrel down and wait. 'member, if ya move, I'll knock ya right outa this here tree'.

I don't think I ever sat so still so long. What seemed like hours later, I felt gramps poke my arm with his finger, ever so slightly. I strained my eyeballs to the side. Nothing. Other side. Young buck, standing in the trail looking down it our way. My heart was going pitty- pat like a jackhammer. Buck looked to the side, then, satisfied everything was ok, he trotted our way a few steps. I waited. He passed under our tree. Gramps poked me again as buck stepped on by. I brought up the gun, cocking the hammer and aiming, all in one quick, smooth move, just as gramps taught me. I didn't even feel the recoil but I still see the buck drop in his tracks, relieved that he didn't run for miles to die somewhere that night like gramps said would happen if I made a bad shot. We climbed down to look at the buck. The slug hit him at the base of his skull in back, killing him instantly. Gramps gave out his cackling laugh and slapped me on the back so hard I almost puked.

Well, we drug buck out of the woods to our truck, hung him in a tree and removed his entrails. Then we sat in the truck to wait for Ike. Gramps rolled two cigarettes, handed me one then brought out his fruit jar of evil tasting whiskey from under the truck seat. We talked and celebrated until we heard a shot. That would be Ike. Gramps always said one shot means deer. More than one shot means the hunter missed. So, three happy hunters headed for town. Our town had a locker plant. They would process your animals as you wanted, package the meat and place it in a locker you rented. You could come and get any meat when you wanted. In later years we would buy our own freezers.

At this point in my life, I think I would give all my tomorrows just to relive a few old times.

Local Time; 07;20 PM Local Date; 10-06-2008

Submitted By: Hop from IA on 2008-10-06

 

 

 

An Ice Cream Summer Day
One hot summer afternoon I got a terrible hankering for some ice cream. I knew we had none but I had some money if I could only get to town. Big brother Ike was off in his truck somewhere and dad and gramps went to a livestock auction in the next county. I could drive myself in but Ike's car was tore apart and dad had the keys to his Buick. That still left two tractors that both ran.
Back in the '40's and '50's it was common to see kids driving tractors on country roads and tractors on streets in town were common. I was big and husky as a kid so I was taught to drive as soon as I could reach the pedals.

I looked around to see who might be watching me. Mom, granny and Angel were in the house cutting material and making Angel some new dresses. Daryl was around somewhere out of sight. As quietly as I could I filled the gas tank on one of the A C's, started it and drove out onto the road from one of our fields away from the house, hoping no one would notice.

My drive into town was without incident. I parked the tractor in an empty space in front of Lisle's drug store and soda fountain, on the town square. At last, I could smell and almost taste the ice cream as I walked in the door. Seating myself at the bar, I ordered a banana split. That first taste sent me right to heaven.

As I ate, Joylynn and her little sister entered. Joy was about my age, cute, almost red hair and went to my church. Somehow, I summoned up the courage to speak to her. I ended up buying her and her sister ice cream sodas. We were having a time joking and laughing when I felt a slap on the back of my head. It was Ike. He had been at a bar a few doors down and saw the tractor go by with me driving. 'What the h**l you doin' here'?

After I explained everything, Ike suggested I get home before dad and gramps or I'd be in trouble, again. Ike also told me to drive his truck home, he would bring the tractor. If he got home after dad and gramps, he'd just tell them he brought the tractor in to see if a used loader would fit that the implement dealer in town had.

Everything went fine. I got home before dad and so did Ike. We were eating supper and dad was telling about the cattle he bought at the auction, to be delivered the next day. Daryl started babbling about where did I go on the tractor that afternoon? Why did Ike bring it home? I wanted to strangle the little fart. Where in h**l was he that he saw me? Mom, granny and Angel looked at me. By then they heard all about it but said nothing to dad. Dad looked at me with that familiar 'what now' frown of his. Gramps looked at me with a half grin. Ike just sat waiting for the explosion.

I explained everything. Surprisingly enough, nothing much was said. I think dad was just happy that nothing got broke, the sheriff was not involved and no one was hurt or killed. Just another hot summer day in a young boy's life.

Submitted By: Hop from IA on 2008-10-14

 

 




 

 

 

One July 4TH.

July 4th was pretty much like any other summer day on our farm. Lots of chores and field work. We didn't do anything in the way of celebrating. But, when I was eleven dad said if big brother Ike would take us kids, we could go into town and watch the parade. Ike was quick to agree, so Angel, Daryl and I boarded Ike's old Dodge pickup and off we went. Ike parked almost in front of a place called 'happy Times'. He gave me a wad of bills and instructed us after the parade to wander around the town square park. There was food for sale and stuff going on. He would be right here in 'happy Times' when we were ready to go home. We waited by the truck until the parade went by. The parade was fun to see. A group of men in uniforms carrying rifles headed the parade, with a soldier carrying a pole with the flag waving in the breeze. Then came a few tractors pulling hay wagons with boy scouts, girl scouts, a church float promoting peace, some antique cars, fire truck, a police car, some nice horses with riders or pulling carriages and kids on bicycles decorated with paper streamers and flags. Daryl had to pee so we went over to Happy Times so he could use the restroom. Ike was busy with a gal named Ruthy and hardly noticed us. Then we wandered over to the park. I payed for three bottles of Coke, fished out of a big tub of water with chunks of ice floating in it. Angel and Daryl wanted a hot dog so we each got one to our liking. Mine was heaped with sauerkraut. There was a band in the bandstand playing patriotic music, loud and bad, games and craft stuff. As we wandered about we stopped to talk to people we knew. Every so often a firecracker would go off. Daryl was getting a big kick out of the goings on. His eyes were big as half dollars. Two big kids walked by. Actually they were more like young adults. I paid them no mind but Angel was watching them. One of them tossed something over his shoulder and a second later 'BANG'. Instantly Daryl let out a scream and started bawling his eyes out. He held up his left hand. I saw a nasty looking gash with a shiny sliver sticking out, blood running down his arm. We hustled over to the Happy Times fast as we could, Daryl wailing like a siren. Ruthy Immediately took over, ushering Daryl into the restroom to clean and bandage his wound. Luckily, this bar had a pretty complete first aid kit. When they came out, Daryl was much more calm and was enjoying the attention Ruthy was showering him with. Ruthy gave Ike a rather large piece of glass. It had gone in a good ways. Ruthy told Ike Daryl should get a shot. We boarded Ike's pickup and drove slowly around town to see if Angel could spot the two punks. No luck, so we went home. For some time after that, whenever Ike had to go to town on an errand, Daryl would beg to go along and visit Ruthy. I think the little snot had his first crush. And that was our July 4th in 1951 Submitted By: Hoppy from IA on 2009-10-30

 

 

ice cream sundaes Pictures, Images and Photos

 

An Ice Cream Summer Day
One hot summer afternoon I got a terrible hankering for some ice cream. I knew we had none but I had some money if I could only get to town. Big brother Ike was off in his truck somewhere and dad and gramps went to a livestock auction in the next county. I could drive myself in but Ike's car was tore apart and dad had the keys to his Buick. That still left two tractors that both ran.
Back in the '40's and '50's it was common to see kids driving tractors on country roads and tractors on streets in town were common. I was big and husky as a kid so I was taught to drive as soon as I could reach the pedals.

I looked around to see who might be watching me. Mom, granny and Angel were in the house cutting material and making Angel some new dresses. Daryl was around somewhere out of sight. As quietly as I could I filled the gas tank on one of the A C's, started it and drove out onto the road from one of our fields away from the house, hoping no one would notice.

My drive into town was without incident. I parked the tractor in an empty space in front of Lisle's drug store and soda fountain, on the town square. At last, I could smell and almost taste the ice cream as I walked in the door. Seating myself at the bar, I ordered a banana split. That first taste sent me right to heaven.

As I ate, Joylynn and her little sister entered. Joy was about my age, cute, almost red hair and went to my church. Somehow, I summoned up the courage to speak to her. I ended up buying her and her sister ice cream sodas. We were having a time joking and laughing when I felt a slap on the back of my head. It was Ike. He had been at a bar a few doors down and saw the tractor go by with me driving. 'What the h**l you doin' here'?

After I explained everything, Ike suggested I get home before dad and gramps or I'd be in trouble, again. Ike also told me to drive his truck home, he would bring the tractor. If he got home after dad and gramps, he'd just tell them he brought the tractor in to see if a used loader would fit that the implement dealer in town had.

Everything went fine. I got home before dad and so did Ike. We were eating supper and dad was telling about the cattle he bought at the auction, to be delivered the next day. Daryl started babbling about where did I go on the tractor that afternoon? Why did Ike bring it home? I wanted to strangle the little fart. Where in h**l was he that he saw me? Mom, granny and Angel looked at me. By then they heard all about it but said nothing to dad. Dad looked at me with that familiar 'what now' frown of his. Gramps looked at me with a half grin. Ike just sat waiting for the explosion.

I explained everything. Surprisingly enough, nothing much was said. I think dad was just happy that nothing got broke, the sheriff was not involved and no one was hurt or killed. Just another hot summer day in a young boy's life.

Submitted By: Hop from IA on 2008-10-14

 

 


 

Me N Jim Corbett
When I was living alone in a house, before I was filed away in an apartment building I was honored to be allowed to hunt a particularly vicious man eating tiger with the famous British hunter, Jim Corbett. Jim was famous for killing tigers and leopards which preyed on villagers and railroad workmen, in India. He wrote a number of books on the subject. He died in 1955, but lives on in the secret places of my mind.
So, on this particular night, there we were, me and Jim, perched high in a tree (my rocker) watching the live bait goat we staked out (bread crumbs), me clutching my Westley Richards .505 (Daisy 1000 shot Red Ryder BB gun), patiently waiting for our prey, a deadly man killer tiger, (mouse). Without warning our hunt was interrupted by a herd of rampaging elephants tramping down the trail.(My daughter). 'Whatinell you doing sitting there with that BB gun'? She demanded as she entered my dingy house. 'What's that mess of crumbs doing on the floor? Why don't you tidy up at least a little'? She rudely ignored my pal Jim as she swept up the bread crumbs. I explained to her that I was after a mouse. She suggested a trap. Horrors. Jim would NEVER allow a steel trap to be used on such a noble beast as a tiger or leopard. They had to be hunted at night, sitting in a tree amid clouds of insects, (flies that found their way in through the many holes in the screens). Dear clueless daughter said, as she stomped out carrying my bags of trash, 'then let's make it night', and turned off the light, slamming the door. Jim and I sat in the dark for a long while, silently cursing rampaging elephants, (women). When sunup finally came (I got up and turned on the light) our bait was gone. Well Jim, there is always another night. We climbed out of the tree (my chair) and put away our guns and retired to our tents, (bed).

Submitted By: Hoppy from IA on 2009-11-05

 

 

 

Sis Gets Her Horse

One summer Saturday afternoon in my 11th year, big brother Ike told me he needed me to go to town with him.This was our normal routine. We get to town, Ike gives me some money for the movie matinee with instructions to come to Tommy's tap, a few doors away from the theater, and wait for him after the movie. There, I would sit quietly at a corner table and sip a root beer while Ike finished shooting pool or drinking. Then I would drive us home. That Saturday morning dad and gramps took the truck and headed for a farm auction a few miles away. Ike and I did our usual business in town. As I headed Ike's old model 'A' up the lane to our house we noticed the truck in the barnyard, the whole family gathered around. We walked over to investigate.
In the back of the truck stood a medium sized gray gelding. Gramps, who dearly loved horses, was grinning like a 'possum and Angel couldn't wait for the horse to be unloaded. She had already named him. 'He's beautiful. Just like a gray cloud. I'll call him cloudy'. 'Why not just gray'? Ike snorted but was ignored.

Cloudy was unloaded and gramps led him around the barnyard a bit, and then suggested someone ride him. There was no question who that would be. Angel requested a boost up. Then dad grabbed Daryl, hoisted him aboard in front of Angel, telling him to hold tight to cloudy's mane. Daryl looked scared and took a death grip on as much mane as he could. Angel took the halter rope, kicked cloudy in the ribs, and nothing. Cloudy just stood there. Another kick, a 'giddy up', nothing. Ike stepped forward, still clutching the quart bottle of Drewey's he bought at Tommy's, for the road, hauled off and slapped cloudy on the rump with a slap that cracked like a shot. Cloudy reacted instantly with a jumping run and took off like he was late to dinner. Angel did an amazing back flip off cloudy, landing on her feet. Daryl, well, he didn't fare so well. Cloudy ran around the barnyard, looking for a way out, Daryl hanging on, screaming like a siren for all he was worth. As they ran past the corn crib, old wacky our dog, joined in, running and barking after cloudy. We all ran after them but, too late. Cloudy ran full bore toward the wire fence, saw it and slammed on his brakes. Poor Daryl was catapulted over cloudy's head and right into the fence. 'Ya kilt 'im' gramps yelled at Ike as we all ran to Daryl's aid. Cloudy had retreated to a far corner of the barnyard and Wacky started tugging at Daryl's leg. We got the squalling Daryl untangled from the fence and dad carried him to the house. I hung around for the dabbing of home-made whiskey on Daryl's cuts and scratches. Daryl sure hit some high notes when the whiskey bit him. He looked like a mummy after mom and granny bandaged him up. Well, Ike was on the s**t list for awhile and I was forbid going anywhere with Ike for some time. All in all, Daryl survived childhood well enough.

Submitted By: Hoppy from IA on 2009-11-10

 

Photo by Patty Campbell

 

 

 


 

 

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