memoir

Fierce Little Worm

Grandma J was known for her placid nature. Her family never mentioned her being rattled. The same couldn’t be said for Grandpa J. His family was wary of his outbursts. It would have been interesting to observe the two one particular afternoon as they worked together in their garden.

Grandma was chopping weeds along the fence when she set aside her hoe and called out to Grandpa.

“ Well, would you look at this fierce little worm? I’ve never seen a worm act like this!” He turned to see her holding up a small “worm” wiggling vigorously trying its best connect with her wrist.

“Throw it down! Throw it down!” He shrieked, rushing toward her. “It’s a snake! It’s gonna bite you.!”

Grandma dropped the snake, and backed up. Grandpa hurried over, brandishing his hoe. This was before the days of conservation and concern for preservation of endangered animals. He chopped up Grandma’s baby rattlesnake and dug into its brotherhood of tiny rattlesnakes cuddled up in their cozy den with their loving Mother, ushering the family into their reptile afterlife with his hoe.

So much for her fierce little worm.

Pooping with Brian

I got my daughter a Dalmatian for her thirteenth birthday.  I do believe that was one of the biggest mistakes of my life.  For about a day and a half, Annie was sweet. As soon as she got her bearings,she became a hyperactive, maniacal buzz saw, plundering and eviscerating everything in her path from shoes to the rag top on my husband’s MG, but that’s a story for another post.

At eighteen months, Annie’s hormones kicked in.  Overnight, she was transformed into a nasty-tempered, sullen,farting, bitch, such a blessed relief.  One day she was sitting between Bud and Mother farting up a storm.  Bud and Mother each kept looking accusingly at the other, thinking surely the other would do the decent thing and excuse themselves.

Deciding to take her show on the road one morning, Annie decided the best thing for her to do was to tunnel under our neighbor’s back fence to pay him a call.  Brian wasn’t in the yard, so she trotted into the house looking for him.  He was deep in thought, sitting on the toilet, enjoying some quality time. Inspired by his wise example, Annie squatted and produced a fine example of her own.  Though I didn’t see the actual event, I did get to hear about it in great detail.

Fido Buys the Farm

Joe found his dog lying out behind his car, not moving.  He grabbed Fido up and ran him in to the vet.

Vet:  “”I’m sorry.  Your dog is dead.  That’ll be fifty bucks.”

Joe:  “No, he can’t be!”  He threw Fido in the car and drove a few miles to see Vet #2.  This one put him up on the exam table, checked him over good then brought a Labrador Retriever Into the room.  The Lab sniffed Fido, poked him with his foot, but Fido didn’t respond.  Next the vet brought a cat in and waved him over Fido.

Vet#2:  “Sorry, your dog’s dead, alright.  That’ll be three-hundred and fifty dollars.”

Joe:  “Now hold on.  The other vet only charged me fifty dollars!”

Vet #2:  “Yeah, but I did a Lab test and Cat scan!”

Dogs We’ve Known and Loved

We’ve been known and owned by numerous dogs over the years. In our life when we had nothing but poverty, the only thing money can’t buy, we adopted dogs from overjoyed people burdened with a litter of mutt puppies. Those were unfailingly good dogs. Our first was a small dog reminiscent of Snoopy. I had hopes of finding a basset hound pup, so the opportunist who endowed us assured the dog’s father was indeed a basset hound. I don’t believe a basset hound had ever even walked through that neighborhood. It was immaterial anyway since I was accompanied by a five-year-old boy intent on taking a puppy home. A look of love passed between the two sealing the deal. Spotty made every step John made for the next thirteen years. John is past fifty now and can still tear up when we talk about her.

More to come…….

Four Old Ladies

I think this is the funniest YouTube I’ve ever heard.  It never gets old!

Grandpa J and the Summons

When Grandpa J got up at four-thirty, everybody got up. The women headed for the kitchen and the stove. At Grandpa’s orders, the menfolk headed for the barn to milk the numerous cows, bring the milk in, slop the hogs, and get the tractors and equipment ready for the day’s farm work. By six am, they’d have scraped their boots and cleaned up enough to gather around the large, rough table for breakfast. Grandma stood before the large wood stove , her face flushed with its heat, flipping pancakes and eggs on its many griddles. She served them cups steaming coffee, and pint jars warm rich milk fresh from the cows. The girls and women were kept busy, passing passing pancakes, eggs, bacon and molasses, and pouring refills on coffee and milk. The women didn’t even try to eat before the men got out of the way. It was the first item of business to get the men off to work before they could get the kids off to school and start their day of taking care of the milk, cooking, housework and gardening.

The busy farm couple had eleven kids between nine and twenty-one at this particular time. One brutal, icy day shortly after Christmas, the older boys decided they just weren’t getting up at four-thirty that day. There wouldn’t be any farming in that weather. It wasn’t fit for man nor beast. They cows could just wait. By golly, they were going to stay in bed, for once.

Grandpa had been working on some plow lines before the fire the night before. He called up the stairs to the boys a couple of times, before warning them he’d be up to get them if they didn’t get down in a minute. Feeling confident he couldn’t get them all at once, they lay abed.

Unbeknownst to the old man, just as Grandpa made his way upstairs, plow lines in hand, a deputy from town was about to knock on the front door to deliver a summons to jury duty for Grandpa. Grandpa commenced whaling on the boys with the plow lines, deaf to the pounding on the front door. The boys, most over six feet tall, tumbled down the stairs and burst out the front door, trampling the deputy on their way. Terrified, he joined the boys in flight, being flogged right along with them.

He refused to come back and deliver the summons.

Pig in Mud

Two farmers are in the pub having a beer. Both are skint and in dire need of some money. All they have is one pig each, but luckily one is male and the other female.

So after having a few more beers they hit on a marvellous plan to make money. By mating the two pigs they will have lots of little piggies to sell. 

So the next morning at the crack of the dawn, the farmer with the female pig gets up, loads the pig in a wheel barrow and walks around to his mates farm. He introduces her to the male pig and after much sniffing, serious bonking ensues

“How will I know she’s pregnant”, enquires the first farmer.

“Easily replies the other, when you get up, look at the pig and if she’s rolling in mud, she’s pregnant. If she ‘s eating grass she isn’t so you will have to come back.”

Next morning comes and the farmer dashes to the window And the pig is happily eating grass in the field.

“Damn”, he says going downstairs. He grabs the pig and puts her in the wheel barrow and trundles off to the other farm and more bonking ensues.

This goes on all week with no success. 

So on the Sunday morning the farmer tells the wife to look out the window and tell him what the bloody pig is doing “Is she eating grass ?” he asks 

“No”, says the wife.

“Is she rolling in the mud?” 

“No”, says the wife.

“What the hell she doing then” he cries. 

“She’s sitting in the wheel barrow waiting for you!”

Bucket List for a Spring Chicken Part 2

This battered beauty makes  every mile with Mother.  I will never forgive my daughter-in-law, Carissa, for gifting Mother with it when Mother complained  her old one had worn out.  I’d been looking forward to its demise for a while.   Except for that betrayal,  Carissa is a perfect DIL.  Please note the frayed seams […]

Bucket List for a Spring Chicken Part 2

Traffic Joke Sitting on the side of the highway waiting to catch speeding drivers, a State Police Officer sees a car puttering along at 22 MPH. He thinks to himself, this driver is just as dangerous as a speeder!” So he turns on his lights and pulls the driver over. Approaching the car, he notices that there are five old ladies — two in the front seat and three in the back — wide eyed and white as ghosts. The driver, obviously confused, says to him, Officer, I don’t understand, I was doing exactly the speed limit! What seems to be the problem? “Ma’am,” the officer replies, you weren’t speeding, but you should know that driving slower than the speed limit can also be a danger to other drivers. Slower than the speed limit? No sir, I was doing the speed limit exactly… Twenty-two miles an hour! “The old woman says a bit proudly. The State Police officer, trying to contain a chuckle explains to her that 22” was the route number, not the speed limit. A bit embarrassed, the woman grinned and thanked the officer for pointing out her error. But before I let you go, Ma’am, I have to ask… Is everyone in this car OK? These women seem awfully shaken and they haven’t muttered a single peep this whole time, “the officer asks. Oh, they’ll be all right in a minute officer. We just got off Route 119.”