Old Lady Borden was a saint! We had it on good authority, hers. She had been widowed longer than anybody knew. Hateful as she was, had I been her husband, I would have claimed to be dead, too. Though she was devout in another denomination, she was in attendance at our little country church every time the doors opened. Her own church was twelve miles away and she didn’t want to bother anyone for a ride to services so far afield. It was much more expedient walk a few hundred feet and stir up no end of trouble closer to home, inserting herself fully into all matters related to church business, be it financial, theological, or just some sinner in need of her hateful opinion.
Mother was very particular about our language. We would have never been allowed refer to Ms. Borden by the B word, but she turned a deaf ear when we referred to her as an Old Bat. Old Lady Borden played a vital role pointing out flaws that might have gone unnoticed for a while, a pregnant bride, a baby with a crossed-eye, a child who stuttered, a woman who’d gained weight, or was a bad housekeeper. She begrudged any good fortune coming to a neighbor, such as good crops, or getting a good job. They were “gittin’ uppity.” Should a church member appear too prosperous, they were probably “gittin’ in the c’lection plate.”
Old Lady Borden was the first to the home of the bereaved, making sure to crowd the younger women out at the kitchen sink, then complaining loudly about how “lazy them gals was. “ Any one unfortunate enough to be handed a drying towel would be treated to her acid tongue about what a pitiful job they were doing. Nothing excited her more than a tragedy. Long before the days of cell phones, or even many house phones in our rural community, the school principal got the word that Mr. Barnes, the school bus driver’s father had collapsed and died a few minutes after his daughter Becky left on her bus route. The principal got in his vehicle, hoping to catch up with her before she home and found a shocking scene. When she stopped to let off Old Lady Borden’s grandson, the old woman rushed out to meet her at the bus stop with the horrible news. “Becky, yore daddy just dropped dead. He’s still a’ laying out in the yard a’waitin’ for the coroner.”
Naturally, Becky and her young children were distraught. There were still a half-dozen other children, some of them relatives, on the bus who’d heard the whole thing. They became overwrought at hearing the news of Mr. Barne’s death. Becky had no idea how to manage till the principal caught up to comfort and relieve her. He had to finish her route with her and the upset children still on the bus, since there was no other way to get them home. It was a shocking situation but at least the old bat had the pleasure of delivering the terrible news.
Old Lady Borden kept trouble stirred up. She made every church business meeting to make her opinion known, despite the fact that she wasn’t a church member and could not vote. She bullied everyone she dealt with and tried to dominate her Sunday School Class, making it clear she had God’s ear and wouldn’t hesitate to use her influence. She was the meanest Christian I ever met.
Storytelling
Tiny Dog and Her Big Personality: Rescuing the Unforgettable
I was glad for the garage that sleety morning as I started out for my day shift. At least I wouldn’t have to stand in the cold and scrape ice off my windshield. As I headed cautiously out my slippery drive, I caught sight of a tiny red Chihuahua hopping down the middle of the street in the dark. Knowing how Chihuahuas suffer from the cold , I knew someone’s precious baby must have slipped out. Surely, no one would have intentionally left such a fragile creature out, so I stopped and called out. The grateful dog jumped in my car as soon as I opened the door. She looked like a red Chinese Crested Hairless Chihuahua at first. Shivering, she was chilled to the bone. I called work, letting them know I’d be late and took her back home. Upon inspection, I found her flea collar had slipped to fit bandoleer style, pulling her front leg out of line. Cutting the collar off, I saw chafing under her left front leg. This pitiful beast had been abandoned. Flea-infested and starving, she had horrendous breath, the result of muscle breakdown, After hand-feeding and watering her, I put a heating pad in a small box and wrapped her like a mummy. She buried up head and ears, still shivering and coughing. Bud hadn’t gotten in from his night shift so I left him a note and went to work. I worried about her all day.
I needn’t have concerned myself. When I got home that afternoon, I found her enthroned on Bud’s lap, cozily wrapped in a blanket, her food and water bowls at hand. She was crawling with fleas but Bud was unconcerned. I gave her a warm flea bath, which she welcomed, removed a few ticks, and treated her chafed leg. The next day, we took her to the vet who put her on antibiotics for her cough. She weighed four pounds six ounces.
We nursed her back to health before worming and vaccinating her. Her cough cleared. By the time she’d reached her target weight, her golden coat grew in. She turned out to be a beautiful, honey-coated Pomeranian, the sweetest little dog possible. This little rescue was so grateful for her home. Her personality blossomed. She got bossy, trying to get us to go to bed at eight every night. Ruling the roost over our bigger dogs, she pushed them out of their beds and confiscated their toys at will. She particularly loved Bud, who’d wrapped her in a blanket and cuddled her all day, her first day home.
If you are thinking of getting a dog, consider a rescue. They are likely to already be house trained. They are definitely grateful for their home. No one need buy a dog when there are so many rescues waiting. Even if you have your heart set on a particular breed, you can usually find one. People often buy purebred dogs thoughtlessly, then turn them in to shelters.
Our Awful Friends
Freedom at the Awful’s Illustration by Kathleen Holdaway Swain
Mother was a cruel beast of a woman who rarely allowed us out of our own yard. I felt so deprived when free-range children passed our house in pursuit of adventure. Sometimes we were able to tempt them in with our tire swing, zip line, or huge barn, but invariably greener pastures called and we were left morosely watching them amble off to Donnie’s or Joey’s house. Sadly, we’d pine as the motley crew and their retinue of dogs disappeared down the dusty road. It wasn’t that we didn’t have wondrous opportunities on our own place;t we just hated being left behind.
Once we accepted our sad abandonment, we didn’t waste time whining to Mother that “We don’t have anything to do.” I only made that mistake once and Mother set me to hanging out diapers, dusting, and washing woodwork. In fact, she was mean enough to assign jobs to break up fights. It’s terrible growing up with a mother who turns human nature against innocent children.
At any rate, a family neighboring us raised their fortunate children with a complete lack of supervision. Those kids roamed long after dark, before daylight, dropped in for meals all over the neighborhood, drank out of from the neighbor’s faucets, rode the neighbor’s cows, and generally led a charmed life. Though their name was Offut, I misunderstood it as Awful. In her frequent dealings with these children Mother reached the conclusion Awful was an excellent name. She was particularly offended when we came home from town and found them in the house making Kool-aid. The Awful’s had little understanding of private property and had often had Kool-aid with us, so of course they felt free to help themselves, even if Mother had been careless enough not to leave it in the refrigerator. Her attitude baffled our uninvited guests. I think the syrupy floor and Jerry’s standing on the counter helping himself to a pack of Daddy’s cigarettes off the top shelf also ruffled her feathers, but she was the crabby type, after all. The loss of cigarettes were of particular concern. A carton cost two dollars and eighty cents, a significant portion of her fifteen dollar grocery budget. At any rate, she took an unreasonable stance and forbade them to enter the house again when we were gone. I don’t think they found it particularly disturbing since a couple more packs of cigarettes went missing before Daddy found a better hiding place for his stash.
Annie’s Fish Hookectomy
We have a nice little wet-weather creek that runs along our property line, cutting through the middle of the wooded lot next door. My kids played in the creek and in the woods all the time. They were a few years older than Greg, our neighbor’s boy, so by the time he played there, he had Annie, our Dalmatian and other kids from the neighborhood with him. Sometimes, I think Greg was the only person Annie really liked. Greg got in from school and made his way straight to the pantry, just like always. He filled up, chatted a while, and took Annie out to play. Before long, he and Annie were back. “How do you get a fish hook out of a dog’s mouth?” I thought it was it was the lead in to a joke. “”I don’t know. How?” “I don’t know. But I was crawfishing with a piece of bacon for bait on my line and somehow, Annie jumped and swallowed the hook, bacon, and all. I just can’t imagine how it happened!” I could. Annie pranced right behind Greg, proud of the long string hanging from her mouth. Tentatively, I pulled it. It was stuck. Off to the vet. As you can see from the xray above, the fish hook was imbedded in her stomach. It had to be surgically removed, along with about five hundred dollars from my wallet. Annie moped around for three or four days, with nothing to do but brag about her surgery. Greg made himself scarce, not even checking on her.
Bear Jokes
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One day, a black bear walks into a bar…
The bear begins to get some strange looks, but he was use to this being a black bear and all.
Everyone in the bar was acting a little strange around him, but then he sat at the bar and the bartender began to serve him.
Bartender: Ummm…So what can I get you?
Bear: Let me get a shot of………………….. whiskey.
Bartender: Sure, but what’s up with the big pause?
Bear: I get them from my dad.
Two friends are out hiking, and they see a black bear on the trail in front of them
One guy takes off his pack, takes off his hiking boots, and puts on running shoes.
His friend says, “What are you doing? You can’t outrun that bear!”
The first guy says, “I don’t have to outrun the bear. I just have to outrun you!”
So a man and his three friends are sitting in a bar, one of them says to the others
“I’m the greatest bear hunter there ever was,” immediately 2 of the 3 friends disagree and say in unison,
“No way I am!!”
They continue arguing until the 4th man who said nothing pipes up and says,
“I have never been bear hunting, maybe we should all go to see whose best at it?”
The friends agree, go home for the night and the next day they all get in a truck and drive deep into the forest.
While they are driving one friend turns to the bear hunting novice and says,
“When hunting a bear be very quiet. If it sees you, you have two options.” he said,
“You either draw yourself up and get big and tall to scare it or you run. If you run, it will chase you until you get to safety or
until it catches you, whichever comes first.” his friend concluded.
The man noted this and they got to the cabin they had rented for the hunting trip, they set up and search around for hours scouting for bears, but they find none.
Disappointed they head back to camp and fell asleep. When the men awoke they noticed that the bear hunting novice was gone so they get up to look for him outside. They start to call his name but no answer, they grab their guns and walk a little till they hear the sound of running feet.
The novice is running at full speed towards the cabin with a giant black bear behind him, the other 3 friends pull him into the cabin and shoot the bear dead,
the friends all curious and angry with the novice hunter asked,
“What the hell were you doing?”
And finally after the novice catches his breath he says,
“Hunting! Now stay here, I’m gonna have a drink of water, and I’ll go get us another one!”Got an amusing bear joke or story? Would love to hear you tell the tale!
An American lawyer and his Czech brother-in-law are on a hunting vacation in Canada.
As they exit their tent, they run into a male and female bear in the middle of an intimate moment. Enraged at the interruption, the male bear roars, rears up, and with a sudden pounce, swallows the lawyer’s brother-in-law whole!
The American runs for help, calling out for their Canadian ranger guide, who shows up with his hunting rifle. The American points at the male bear and says “Quick! Shoot him, but be careful, my brother-in-law’s inside him!”
The ranger levels his hunting rifle, takes aim, and shoots the female bear dead! Startled by the shot, the male bear runs off.
The American falls to his knees, looking at the Canadian and asking “Why did you shoot the wrong bear?”
The ranger scoffs and says “Did you really expect me to believe a lawyer who tells me the Czech is in the male?”
Blackie and the Great Diaper Monster
Grandma had a stroke when she was fifty-eight. The doctor came out to see her and said she’d never walk again. Ignoring him, she scooted around in an old desk chair for about three months because she wasn’t about to waste money on a wheelchair she’d never use again. After that, she put up with a cane for a few days till she was sick of it, then it was business as usual. Ever afterwards, she was a little weak on the right side and her gait was off a little, but she didn’t let it hold her back. She just carried her gigantic old-lady black purse on the left side to balance herself. She crawled in every time the car started, and made every trip anyone else did, be it the hardware store, grocery store, or vacation. Her stroke just made it a little easier for us to keep up with her. She lived far enough away that she always stayed a couple of weeks when she visited. Upon her arrival, she insisted on taking over the family laundry, washing, hanging out on the line, and folding. We always had mountains of laundry with five kids, including two babies in diapers, so Mother was glad to have the help. Always afraid the neighbors would talk about her for letting Grandma toddle back and forth with the laundry, she always sent one of us to help. I always volunteered, since Grandma was known to hand out nickels when she was pleased. I endeavored to make sure the other kids didn’t stumble into this gold mine. The whole time I was growing up, we had a sequence of gentle black dogs, usually named Blackie
I have no idea how many we may have had, but we always had one. Numerous though they had to have been over the eighteen years I lived at home, they all merged into one in my memory. One hot summer afternoon, as Grandma tottered back from the clothesline to the back door, the poor dog must have awakened from his nap in the shade only to see a short-legged, top-heavy voluminous mound of diaper-carrying scariest monster ever advancing toward him, lurching from side to side. Terrified, he leapt up barking and lunged at the scary monster, pushing her over backwards, the diapers landing atop her. Mother had seen the whole thing and rushed out to rescue Grandma from the jaws of the slavering beast. As soon as the dog heard Mother coming for him, he took off. We were all sure Grandma was dead. Mother tore at the pile of diapers only to find Grandma laughing so hard she couldn’t get up. She had to get her laughing fit over before we could pull her to her feet. She was totally unhurt, except for the indignity of wet pants. I can’t speak to the poor dog’s shocked condition.
Girly Girl
I once knew a young girl who was very precocious, not me, I was a rowdy tomboy. This other girl was all girl and craved lipstick, jewelry, fancy clothes from very early childhood. Her poor mother’s belongings were never safe from this aspiring fashionista. One cold rainy day, we got to a relative’s house before Mother discovered my sister, Phyllis (I may as well reveal her identity)had slipped off in a pair of Mother’s good high heel shoes, though of course they were way too big for an eight-year-old. Rather than make her go barefoot in the cold, sloppy weather as she probably should have, Mother gave her a stern threat about ruining the shoes and let her wear them. As you could anticipate, Phyllis spent a few cautious minutes indoors before indulging in a contest jumping off the porch into the mud. Needless to say, the green high heels didn’t fare well. She jumped those heels right off.
About the same time, Phyllis showed up dressed for school with Mother’s falsies in the bodice of her dress. They were wildly askew on her flat chest and caught Mother’s attention immediately. Phyllis just couldn’t imagine how Mother discovered her secret!
Yard Work Now and Then
When I was a kid, I never dreamed I’d enjoy yard work. It was a punishment then, literally, usually precipitated by Daddy’s anger. We’d get the bad news the day before. “When I get home from work tomorrow, there better not be a leaf down anywhere in this yard.” Daddy would proclaim. “I don’t want to hear any excuses.” My mood plummeted.
Daddy woke us before he left for work the next morning with a variable mood, either falsely cheerful or still angry from whatever precipitated the sentence of yard work. Yard cleaning meant raking leaves, picking up branches, and hauling the detritus to a burning area. We owned one good yard broom, one snaggletoothed yard broom , one rake, and a wheelbarrow.
We started out by fighting over the yard broom, the easiest and most efficient tool. Nobody wanted the snaggletoothed yard broom or rake. The worst job was hauling the leaves to the burn pile. None of us wanted that job, leading to another round of fighting. The shouts and insults usually brought Mother out to intervene before blood was drawn. That was one rule universally acknowledged. Never injure a sibling to the point of necessitating medical care.
Mother would threaten enough to get us properly started. She assumed a supervisory role and reminded us of our mission and consequences should we fail. In desperation and misery, we’d settle down to our task. After an interminable day of yard work interspersed with fighting, we’d finally finish the hated task. Should we not be able to finish for some reason, Mother would vouch for us, explaining to Daddy why we couldn’t finish. Maybe one of us ran a high fever and broke out with measles or perhaps Aunt Esther and Mawmaw stopped by asking Mother to let us play with our cousins while they visited. Mawmaw was familiar with the work/punishment principle from her marriage and interceded when she could. I admire her for that. It does a kid good to know someone’s on their side even if it doesn’t change their life much.
Failing that, there was no quarter for lazy kids. Punishment was swift and sure with whippings all around and an extra measure of work the next day.
Izzy
Izzy is our little rescue dog. He looks for all the world like an American Eskimo Dog, but weighs less than ten pounds, so I suspect there’s some Pomeranian in there as well. Like a Pom, he hates getting his feet wet. He’d strayed up a home on my niece’s mail delivery route. The homeowner was kindly fostering him but hunting a home. We’d recently lost our darling dog, so we ended up with him.
He’s adorable, so sweet and loving but has one quirk. He’s a runaway. I suspect that’s how we ended up with him. Given the slightest chance, he flees. He likes for us to follow him till he gets his run out, staying a couple of hundred yards ahead. When he’s journeyed far enough, he welcomes a ride home.
He’s a great lap-sitter and kisser. He’s fascinated with my glasses. One evening I took them off, laying them on my table. In a flash, he’d grabbed them, prepared to munch them up. Fortunately, I caught him in time. A few nights later, I knocked them off my nightstand. They bounced under my bed. I left them, thinking I’d retrieve in the morning when they were nowhere to be found. Then I discovered them where he’d hidden them in the bed, the earpieces chewed to a fare-thee-well. My new ones should be in Wednesday.
Nutsrok 