TALES OF A TEXAS BOY
BY MARVA DASEF
Smashwords Edition
Copyright © Marva Dasef 2009
http://marvadasef.com
Texas Boy Publications
* * *
Dad Boles and Sophie
During the 1930's in the rural region of West Texas, working was just about all people had time to do. However, even without television or access to movie houses, there was still some entertainment for the masses. The county fair became a yearly highlight for the farm families. Sometimes, the entertainment wasn't inside the gate to the fair, but outside where a few folks who were just a bit different set up their own type of show.
IT WAS SUMMER again and the carnival would be here in a week. That's about the most exciting event of the year, except maybe the roundup and branding. I surely was looking forward to the cotton candy and riding the Ferris wheel. Beins I'm a kid, a carnival was pretty interesting, but I looked forward to it most 'cause that's when Dad Boles came to town.
My Pa met up with Dad Boles during the war where they'd been in France with the cavalry. My Pa was the horse doctor and Dad Boles was the horseshoer, though he'd been a lot of different things in his life. They'd hit it off and Dad Boles took to coming to Hereford to spend time with Pa and to bring his bear to the carnival.
I didn't mention he owned a bear? Oh, he surely did! He'd raised Sophie from a cub. Truth be known I think he'd killed her ma, so he wasn't exactly being overly nice by taking in a little bear cub. He also kept a pet bobcat named Bob.
When they all drove up to the farm in his big Studebaker, they surely were a sight. Sophie sat up in the back seat just like she was a person. Bob rode in a cage as he wasn't as easy-goin' as Sophie.
The rest of the Studebaker was loaded full of bobcat skins, which Dad Boles sold at the carnival. He'd set himself a place just outside the carnival entrance, so everybody had to walk by him on the way in. He laid the skins out around a heavy pole he'd pounded into the ground. He tied Sophie's leash to the pole. She leaned up against it and sat up on her haunches. Her big head waved back and forth as she snuffed at the smell of the food sold by the carnies. Ever once in awhile, Dad Boles would toss her sumpin to eat. She seemed to be just fine with watchin' the people go by.
After I'd spent the dollar Pa gave me at the carnival, which took me only an hour, I'd go outside the gate and spend my time with Dad Boles. That was right near as entertaining as the two-headed calf in the tent show.
A lot of folks stopped to look at the skins, too. Dad Boles didn't make any pitch to 'em. They'd ask how much, and he said fifty cents and that was that. No wheelin' or dealin'. Most who wanted a skin thought it was a good price anyways.
Now, it was an entirely different business when it came to Sophie. Every year the farmers brought their dogs to the carnival, just 'cause Sophie was there. They'd bet on whether their dogs could take Sophie or not. Now, you'd think with Sophie tied up and all, the dogs would have a good shot at her. But that'd be cruel and Dad Boles loved Sophie and wouldn't see her come to any harm. Nor, did he want the dogs hurt. The bet was whether the dog could get to the bear and, if'n it did, it'd be pulled back real quick.
Lots of folks brought their dogs to test Sophie, but also just to come watch the game. It surely was an interesting crowd of people. The farmers were there in the coveralls, the cowboys wearing their best hats. Even some town folk would stop by to take a look. I recall Mrs. Oakes come round. I tried not to laugh when I saw her 'cause she liked to wear really big hats, all covered with fruit and flowers. It was particularly amusing as she also carried around her own little dog, which she named Mimi 'cause it was a French dog. It weren't any bigger than a squirrel so she tucked it up under her arm like a package.
Those dogs were gettin' bigger and meaner every year and I began to worry whether Sophie'd still be able to stop 'em. The dog owners didn't seem to care much whether their dogs or Sophie'd get hurt. That did bother me some as I naturally loved all animals. Beasts of the field, Pa called 'em. I didn't quite understand that 'cause I didn't see neither bear nor dog as being a field critter.
I'd heard Dad Boles tell Pa how he'd trained Sophie to be gentle with the dogs. He'd also cut her claws back to nubs before the carnival. So, he'd made sure Sophie wouldn't kill the dogs. He made sure the dogs wouldn't harm Sophie by packin' a Colt Peacemaker at his belt. He kept it in the holster, but I'd seen him whip it out as fast as any gunslinger. I figured if one of the dogs got to Sophie, he'd shoot it. Never had to, at least as I observed.
One year, a rancher brought along a special dog with the direct idea of beating Sophie. It were a big brute. Musta weighed a hundred-fifty at least. Pa told me he was a mastiff. He didn't seem to be a mean dog as he was wagging his tail and generally seemed friendly. Still, that changed when he caught Sophie's scent. Later, I found out the man trained the dog to fight using bearskins. He'd wrap the skin around his arm and hit the dog with a stick, so's the dog connected the bear smell with the beating.
The dog started pulling at his leash and growling. He didn't pay no attention to anything else but that bear. The man could hardly hold the dog back whilst they laid the bet.
The usual bet was fifty cents or so, and Dad Boles made quite a bit just from that. The man musta been confident his dog could take Sophie 'cause he slapped down a hundred-dollar bill on the pile of bobcat skins.
Dad Boles looked at the dog and looked at the hundred, considering. That was a lot of money, but he wasn't too eager to shoot the dog as he thought he might have to do.
He says, "All right, it's a bet," and pulled out his money bag and threw it down with the hundred. "There's plenty enough there to cover."
The man grinned an evil grin. He surely did think his dog could get to Sophie and he didn't seem to realize Dad Boles would shoot the dog if'n he did get close to the bear.
The rancher let go of the leash and the dog sprung forward so fast it'd knock your hat right off. He was snarling so mean at the same time, so's your skin would crawl. I held my breath, just like everybody else standin' there.
Sophie looked at the dog heading her way, but only seemed mildly interested. The dog got to about three feet from her throat and she slapped her big paw out like it was on a spring. She hit the dog right in his chops and he went a'flying.
The dog landed with a thud and he lay there stunned for a few seconds. Everybody held still waitin' to see if'n Sophie'd finally killed a dog.
All a sudden, the dog jumped up on all fours and proceeded to run just as fast as his legs would carry him, yiping for all he was worth the whole time.
Dad Boles grinned at the man, whose mouth was hanging open. Dad scooped up the hundred along with his moneybag and put both away in his coat.
"Better go find yer dog," he said as he threw a hot dog to Sophie. She snapped it up in midair, looking a mite proud of herself.
Whilst everybody was distracted lookin' to see if the big dog was hurt or not, Mrs. Oakes' little dog Mimi jumped down out of her arms and tore on up to Sophie barkin' for all she was worth. Everybody gasped and held their breath, thinkin' Sophie would just take one bite and that little dog wouldn't be no more. By then, Mimi'd grabbed hold of Sophie's paw and was worrying it sumpin fierce. Sophie just looks down all calm. Then gentle as can be, she gave the little dog a light tap with one toe of one paw. Mrs. Oakes ran right up to Sophie and grabbed up Mimi. She rushed away crying "oh, my poor little baby!"
Dad Boles looked relieved that Sophie showed such good sense. He turned to the crowd and said, "good thing nobody bet on that dog."
* * *
Rattlesnakes and Jackrabbits
Domestic livestock weren't the only animals that the farmers and ranchers had to deal with. The wildlife of the region didn't hide out in the bushes all the time. Sometimes they were pretty much in your face. Rattlesnakes came to the farms to catch the rats and mice that populated granaries. Rabbits also took a liking to the easy pickings. Both animals, rattlesnakes and jackrabbits, ended up being a nuisance that the local farmers and ranchers had to control.
TEXANS LIKE to brag everything is bigger in Texas. That might be a little exaggeration, but with two things I think it's pretty much the truth. In Texas, rattlesnakes and jackrabbits come in three sizes: big, bigger, and biggest. I'm also of a mind there are more of each of these critters per square mile than fleas on a stray dog.
You couldn't walk across the farmyard without spottin' at least one rattler. Pa was kept plenty busy just keepin' the rattlers away from the house. The snakes liked to stay around the granary where they'd find plenty of rats to eat. While we appreciated their service, getting rid of the rats, it was dangerous havin' them around the farmyard. I was old enough to watch out for the snakes, but the little kids wouldn't be fast enough to avoid them. Pa had no choice but to kill the snakes when we'd find one.
Pa told me once a hair rope would keep out a rattler, so I wondered why we didn't just put a real long rope 'round the yard. Pa said it only works when you're camping out. That puzzled me some. I asked him why it worked only then and he tol' me the rope circle had to be small, just enough to surround you when you're sleeping. I could see how that might be true, so I asked him why it worked at all. He said, "Eddie, it's because the rattlers are superstitious."
We didn't see the jackrabbits as often, but we knew when they'd come in the middle of the night 'cause we'd see the holes they'd gnawed in the granary walls. The better the crop, the more jackrabbits there'd be. I guessed the one would beget t'other. Around these parts, we called them deer rabbits as they appeared to be as big as deer. Of course, that was also just a joke, but if you see a jackrabbit's ears sticking up behind a mesquite bush, you'd swear it was bigger'n the seven or eight pounds they'd usually weigh.
Because the local farmers and ranchers saw 'em both as a big problem, on occasion they'd get together and go hunting. This mostly happened in the spring or fall when the rattlers were birthing. The reason was if they found a rattler's den, they could kill upwards of a hundred babies at one time. In the meantime, the men could also be looking for jackrabbits.
Up to fifteen, twenty men would fire up their trucks and head out with their .22s and a bunch of boxes to collect up the jackrabbits. The jackrabbits were tough, but could still make a passable stew, so no sense in letting 'em go to waste.
A big part of this expedition included moonshine. The hunters would head out in the early afternoon and start drinking right off. By dusk, most of 'em couldn't hit much of anything, but was havin' a lotta fun anyways. The hardest part of the trip was avoidin' being shot by somebody else. Mostly, though, these men knew what they was doing even when they could hardly see straight. I was glad Pa wasn't a drinker as I'd see how stupid the men would act. I guess that would be one more reason why I respected my Pa.
When I turned twelve, Pa let me go along on a hunt. Course, I didn't drink no moonshine, but I already had my own .22 rifle and was getting to be a fair shot. My Pa doesn't kill animals for sport and neither do I, but we had a farm to run and both the rattlers and the jackrabbits were causin' enough problems that we had to do it.
I'll admit, I did enjoy goin' out with the men. It was fun to be bouncing around in the back of Pa's Model A truck scanning the prairie for either of the offending beasts. If'n anybody spotted sumpin, we'd stop and get out of the cars and the trucks and start hunting on foot. We'd all go off in different directions so as to cover the most ground.
We'd found a den of rattlesnake babies. There must of been a hundred or more, none of 'em over six inches long. They were small, but plenty feisty as they coiled up and shook their little one-button rattles just like the big ones. I turned aside as I didn't want to watch. It's one thing shootin' at sumpin from afar, but the men were stomping on the little snakes to kill 'em. It turned my stomach, so I went off in another direction.
I was going along pretty slow, so I wouldn't step in a snake hole when I heard the squeal of a rabbit in pain. A lot of folks don't realize rabbits make a sound like that. It'd send shivers up your spine. I went quick toward the sound and found a bullsnake at least six-foot long if he were an inch. He was all coiled around a baby cottontail and his mouth was gaped open holdin' onto the rabbit. The poor little rabbit was half swallowed, but the snake made the mistake of tryin' swallow it from the rear instead of the head. The cottontail was strugglin' and screamin' so much the snake looked downright annoyed.
Now, we don't hunt bullsnakes, as they're the natural enemy of rattlesnakes. And, we don't hunt cottontails, as they weren't big enough to do much harm. We pretty much left them both alone. The sound of the little rabbit's screaming just 'bout broke my heart. I run up to them and stepped down on the snake's neck just back of the lump that was the rabbit's rear end. That stopped the swallowing, but now I wasn't sure what to do. I laid down my .22 and grabbed the cottontail by the ears and commenced pulling. A bullsnake's teeth point backwards, so the rabbit was pretty much stuck in the snake's mouth.
I was pullin' and the rabbit's cryin' and the snake's whippin' round trying to get my foot off'n his neck. No progress was being made by any of the three of us.
My Pa heard the rabbit, too, and he came running over and saw the fix I'd got myself into. He started to laugh some, but when he looked me in the eyes, he stopped right quick. He started pryin' the snake's mouth open trying to unhook the teeth from the rabbit. I let up pullin' to allow Pa to work the rabbit loose.
Soon enough, we'd got the rabbit out of the snake's mouth and Pa set the little guy down easy. I reached down and grabbed the bullsnake by the neck where I'd been standing and flung him as far as I could. He hit the ground slithering and was gone in a second. Pa and me took a look at the cottontail, which looked somewhat bedraggled. He was laying there pantin' and started tryin' to pull hisself with his front legs. It looked like he'd got a broke back and I thought we'd have to put him out of his misery.
Pa picked up his .22 and started to draw a bead on the cottontail's head when it looked up at him with those big ol' eyes. He stayed his hand. "Maybe he's just stunned," he said.
While we stood there watchin' the rabbit, a couple of the men came up to see what we'd found. Pa told them about the bullsnake and they thought it a pretty good joke I'd try to save a rabbit from a snake.
After a bit, the rabbit started to move his hind legs a little. He hunched them up under him and inched his way into the underbrush.
We went back to the truck and Pa decided we'd had enough hunting. Neither one of us had the heart to kill anything, at least not that day. I hoped the cottontail recovered and went about his business. I also hoped the bullsnake went off and found himself a meal, but I was glad it wasn't my cottontail. Life is hard on the prairie, but there ain't no sense in relishing the death of any animal, not even a rattlesnake or a jackrabbit.
* * *
The Auction
Mules and jackasses have a special place on the farm. They're strong and tough, so farms back in the early part of the twentieth century couldn't operate without them. Fortunately, or sometimes unfortunately, these working equines were also very smart and had a mind of their own.
PA HOLLERED AT me. "Eddie, you get outta bed and get dressed."
I looked out the window and saw it was still dark, so I knew sumpin must be up. I jumped up and pulled on my pants and boots as fast as I could. I grabbed up a shirt and headed down the ladder from the loft where I slept.
When I got to the kitchen, I saw Ma was already cookin' up some ham n' eggs. My stomach started growling at the smell, so I finished buttoning my shirt and tucked it in like Ma likes. Sumpin was definitely going on since we usually do chores before we get breakfast.
"I thought you was going to sleep all day, Eddie," Pa says when he sees me plop down in my chair.
"Pa, it's still dark out," I said and Pa gave me the look what told me I was statin' the obvious. I looked through the doorway at the chime clock in the sitting room and saw it was only four in the morning. We usually get to sleep til five, so I was starting to get real curious.
"We're going up to Amarillo to an auction. They brought in some mules from Georgia and I thought to take a look."
I knew about the auction, but I didn't know we was going to it. After all, we raised mules, so I wondered why we'd buy some more.
"Yessir. Those Georgia mules are special I hear." If Pa wanted to buy mules from Georgia, that was his business. But I weren't going to argue, as a trip to Amarillo didn't happened every day.
"They also brought in a couple of jacks if you was wondering why I'd want to look at mules," Pa said when he read my thoughts from my expression. I weren't very good at hiding things from Pa. Not that I was trying to hide nothing. I just didn't want to question his good sense, especially at four in the morning.
We finished up eating breakfast and got ready to hit the road to Amarillo. Ma gave us a sack with some biscuits and leftover ham, so we'd have something to eat along the way. I helped Pa push the truck out of the barn and he cranked it while I worked the throttle. Soon enough, we were driving north to the big city.
We pulled the truck into the fairgrounds where the auction was going on. There were trucks and cars all over the place. I hadn't seen so many folks together in one place since the last county fair. Most everybody was milling around the holdin' pens looking over the stock. There weren't just mules, but also horses, cows, and pigs. Each of the types had a different time to be auctioned. It meant folks who were interested in any animal auctioned later had to sit through stock they didn't care about. Everybody had to come first thing, since it wasn't known 'til then when any one auction was going to start.
But, there was plenty to do if'n you had to wait. It was interesting just looking over the stock and seeing what was up for sale. Some traveling salesmen set up booths where they'd pitch their wares. They was right entertaining just to watch. Those fellas sure could talk! They was selling everything you could think of. One fella was selling a potion to cure the bellyache and baldness all at the same time. I couldn't rightly figure how it could work. Still, he swore it come from a old Indian who never had a bellyache and sure weren't bald, so it must work. I ain't never seen a bald Indian, so I had to believe him.
There weren't no beef cattle for sale, as they are sold in herds not one animal at a time. They did have milk cows, though. Pa and me was looking over a Holstein, just about the biggest cow I ever did see. The auctioneer went from pen to pen auctioning off the animals.
The crowd of buyers followed him around and bid on the ones they wanted. When they got to the Holstein, Pa and me were already in the pen inspecting the cow. The auctioneer come into the pen and pushed on the cow to move her aside. The cow stepped right on my foot. I didn't think it polite to yell out, so I just tried to shove on the cow to get her to step off.
"You move aside, boy," the auctioneer said.
"Yessir. I'm tryin' to," I answered.
Pa walked around from the other side of the cow and saw I'm stuck, so he gave the cow a big push so she'd step off'n my foot. I'm glad I wore my cowboy boots or she woulda broke my foot for sure. I decided I'd stay out of the pens from there on out.
The auctioneer bid up the cow and she went for the nice price of thirty-five dollars. The bunch of us moved on to the next pen. Pa and I watched as they sold off a mixed-breed heifer, then a yearling Guernsey.
After awhile, we reached the pens where they stabled the mules. I knew Pa wasn't interested in the mules as we breed them ourselves, so we just waited through the bidding until it got to something interesting.
We came to an empty pen and we all walked by. Then, another empty pen and we moved on past that one, too. Finally, we came to the end of the line of pens and lined up in front of the one holding an animal. There weren't a single horse, cow, mule, or pig within three pens of the one where we found ourselves at last.
I looked in and my jaw dropped like a rock. There stood the biggest, blackest, and meanest looking jackass I ever did see. Two men were holding lead ropes tied to his halter. His head was up and he was puffing his nostrils as he stood there stiff up against the back of the pen. The lead ropes were stretched to their fullest and the two men didn't look too happy to be in the pen with this critter.
He were at least eighteen hands, so he was near as tall as Pa. His head reared up another three feet. Maybe you'll think I'm exaggeratin', but I swear it's the truth. He was the biggest Mammoth Jack I ever did see.
The bunch of men standing outside the pen were mumbling to each other and looking at the auction book. Pa was holding a copy, so I asked for it and read about the farm he come from in Georgia and other such information.
The auctioneer started up, "What am I bid for this fine jack?"
"Ten," I heard from the other side of the crowd. All a sudden, the jackass reared up against the ropes and one of the men holding him got flung up on the fence. The other one dropped the rope and scrambled over the side of the pen.
The Jack threw his head down and went for the man who was on the ground. The beast's mouth was gaped open and he was clearly trying to do some serious damage. Men outside the pen jumped up and grabbed the hands of the man in the pen and jerked him right out. The Jack reared up and slammed his front hooves against the side of the gate.
Crack! The gate splintered and the Jack came tearing out. A brave man grabbed hold of the ropes but he just got hauled behind the jackass like he was no more'n a sheet flyin' in the wind. Another in the crowd with some presence of mind opened the gate across the alleyway and the Jack went into the next pen. A bunch of the fellas slammed the gate shut.
"Oh, c'mon folks, this Jack is only four years old. He's worth a lot more'n that. Who'll give me fifteen?"
Nobody said anything for a bit, then Pa held up his auction card and said "Fifteen."
The auctioneer pointed at Pa and grinned. I believe he thought the bidding was just getting started.
"Do I hear twenty? Twenty. Twenty. I've got fifteen. Who'll give me twenty?"
Nobody said a word.
"Gentlemen, I can't believe you won't bid on this fine animal. Just look at the hip on this outfit. He weighs in at over fifteen hundred pounds."
The auctioneer looked around at the silent crowd. He tried one more time.
"He'll be a fine stud. Your mules will be big, strong fellas. C'mon now, I've got fifteen. Give me seventeen, seventeen. Alright, give me sixteen."
It didn't do no good. The crowd figured any jackass that could break down a two by twelve board gate was more'n they wanted to deal with.
"Sold to the gentleman in the Stetson," the auctioneer finished. He knew when to give up and move on. Pa had just bought himself a new jackass.
The rest of the crowd followed the auctioneer. Pa and me stood there and looked at the Jack. The big fella snorted a few times and stamped his hoof on the ground, but seemed to be over most of his mad.
Everything was finally quiet while me and Pa pondered what to do next. Then, I heard a snuffling sound, but it didn't come from the jackass. I looked over to the next pen and saw a boy sitting on the ground, hunched over. I could see he was crying and it made me wonder. Pa looked over, too.
"What's the matter, boy?"
The boy, who was not much older than me, looked up and wiped his nose on his sleeve.
"Nothin', sir," he answered in a quavery voice.
"Well, you must be sad about sumpin." Pa opened the gate to the pen the boy was in and patted him on the shoulder.
"Why not tell us about it? We'll try to help if we can."
"Well, sir, that jackass belonged to my daddy up 'til you bought him. Times are hard, so he was forced to sell. I've raised up Samson from a foal. I'm just gonna miss him sumpin fierce."
"We'll take good care of him. I promise," Pa said and took the boy by the shoulder. He stood him up and reached out his hand.
"You got my word, son. Can we shake on it?"
The boy reached out and shook Pa's hand.
"Alright. I guess that's fair. I'll miss ol' Samson, but you seem a nice man who'll take care of him right."
"I sure will, son. What's your name?"
"Robert Ray James, but folks call me jus' Bobby Ray."
Bobby Ray went into the pen with Samson. Pa got kind of tense as he'd seen how the jackass was. But, the boy walked right up to the Jack and threw his arms around the big neck. Samson put his nose down and nuzzled the boy's shoulder for a minute. I heard the boy whisper, but I couldn't make out what he said. I kind of thought he was saying goodbye.
Then, Bobby Ray picked up the lead ropes and handed them over to Pa.
"He'll be good for you now, sir. I tol' him to behave hisself." Bobby Ray walked away and didn't look back even when Samson threw his head up and brayed. We all watched the boy until he disappeared out of sight.
"Well, Eddie," Pa said, "I guess we'd better figure out how to get this big boy home."
Pa handed me one of the lead ropes and, together, we led the jackass out of the pen. As we walked him out of the big barn, Pa was quiet. I knew he was sorry to take the boy's pet jackass, but he'd paid the money and the animal was now his.
We led Samson to the truck and slid down the ramp in the back. Pa was looking a tad skeptical whether the big jackass would fit in the truck, but we was bound to give it a try.
I saw Bobby Ray come toward us with a man I took to be his father. Pa had the same thought and held out his hand to shake. Once they'd shook hands, the man held out his hand to me, so I stepped up and shook his hand, too.
"I'm Bob James, Bobby Ray's dad," he explained though we already thought it was the case.
"Bobby Ray said you bought Samson, so I wanted to drop over and tell you a few things about him before you head off to home."
"Why, I appreciate that, Mr. James," Pa answered and looked expectant.
"Well, Samson is a good stud jack, but that also means he can be a handful. Bobby Ray here is about the only one he's taken to. I was sorry we had to sell him, but you know how times are gettin' hard. I can't afford to keep more'n one jackass and we've also got General Lee back home. He's the senior jack and I couldn't see lettin' him go."
"Samson did show his spunk, I'll admit, but he seems to be quiet enough now."
"Oh, sure, he's good as long as there ain't no mares in the area. Just be careful when you bring in the mares 'cause he might get a little crazy. He ain't mean, just real enthused about his job, I'd say." The man chuckled a bit at his joke.
"I already promised Bobby Ray we'd take good care of him, and I shook his hand on it. That's my solemn word," Pa said as he looked at Bobby Ray to see if he understood what he was saying. Bobby Ray nodded his head to show he knew he and Pa had a gentlemen's agreement.
"Well, that's about it," Mr. James said, looking as if it were time for him to leave. "But, we could help you load him up."
"That'd be right nice of you. You know, in case you come down our way, we live a little ways outside Hereford. Perkins is the name. You can ask anybody where to find us."
"We just might do that," Mr. James said.
We loaded up Samson easy enough and drove off.
"I think we'll call him Bucephalus," Pa said as we were driving home.
"Why not just call him Samson, Pa? That's his name."
"He's got a new life now, so he should have a new name. Besides, I always wanted to call a horse Bucephalus, but I think a jack can live up to the name just fine." We ended up just calling him Beau, 'cause it's a lot easier to say.
* * *
Out of the Chicken Coop
Most animals on the farm were there for a purpose, rarely as pets. That meant that animals were not allowed in the house like they are today. If they got in, however, it wasn't always easy to get them out again.
WHEN I WAS just a little kid, no more'n seven if I remember rightly, I was down in the chicken yard tossin' grain like I was tol'. This one little red hen started followin' me around instead of peckin' up the grain like the other chickens. I thought it strange, but just went about my business.
When I opened up the gate to leave, the red hen just whooshed right through 'fore I could get it closed. I tol' her, "Now you get back in there," and opened the gate just a bit for her. She didn't pay any mind to the invite, but just headed on across the yard as fast as two feet could take her.
I latched up the gate and took off after her. I thought I'd better grab her before she got up to the porch. Ma doesn't like chickens on the porch 'cause of the mess they make. So, I was runnin' after the hen and she was makin' a bee-line for the house.
Well, she was faster 'n me, so she beat me handy and up on the porch she went. The kitchen door was open to let the heat out since Ma was bakin' pies. That hen just traipsed right in like she'd come to visit.
I caught up with her finally and she and me went round the kitchen table a time or two. I was glad Ma wasn't there 'cause I know that hen wouldn't of lasted two seconds if that were the case. I figured I'd better catch the chicken 'fore Ma turned her into supper.
It were a standoff. I'd go right around the table, and the hen'd go left. I'd go left, and she'd go right. When I stopped, she stopped. Mostly, chickens don't have much sense, which is why people don't take to them much. Except for eatin' and eggs, of course. But, I was beginnin' to think this was one smart chicken.
I'd left the kitchen door open so's I could chase the chicken out, but that just perked up Ol' Spot's curiosity as he come in to see what was up. Of course, Ma don't allow no dogs in the kitchen, neither, so I'd two strikes again' me already.
The hen didn't care for Spot bein' in the kitchen, neither. That's one thing Ma and the hen would agree on. So, she gave out a couple of clucks and jumped up on a chair, which was shoved under the table. I got down on my hands and knees and crawled under the table. Spot thought this was a good idea, so he come under, too.
The hen spied Spot and Spot spied the hen and there was a lot less room under there after that. Spot jumped at the hen and she jumped over to another chair and Spot just followed her under the table. He'd pretty much forgot I was there, too, so he scrunched his way right over the top of me, pushin' me flat to the floor. The hen's jumpin' from one chair to the next and Spot was runnin' around in circles trying to catch her.
Cluck, cluck, bark, bark. I was surprised Ma hadn't already showed up.
I decided there weren't enough room for me, Spot, and the chicken, so I started to crawl out. But, that didn't work so well, as Spot lunged at the chicken just as I was pushin' out from under the table.
Now, Spot wasn't a real big dog, but he weighed in about thirty pounds and was plenty strong. When he jumped up to catch the chicken, he knocked me over and I rolled up against the leg of the table. Yep, that's the same leg needing fixin' for the last month and Pa hadn't got to it. It's not surprisin' the leg pushed away when I rolled up against it. That end of the table fell on my back and all the pies slid off on the floor. It was pretty startlin', so I'll admit I yelped some. Course, Spot was barkin' and the hen was a-cluckin' so it was gettin' right noisy in there.
When the side of the table fell, I could see the hen kind of squirt out the other side and make for the door. Spot scrabbled out and hit the floor runnin' after her. I'd just crawled out from under the table and, wouldn't you know, Ma showed up and was standin' there like she does with her fists balled up on her hips. She'd got that look, I'm sorry to say. I 'spect you know the one I'm talkin' about. Her eyes were kind of narrowed down and her mouth wasn't smilin' at all.
I stood there in front of her tryin' to think of what to say, but nothin' good was comin' to mind. So, I just tol' the truth.
"Ma, it was the chicken. And Spot, he was chasin' the chicken. It weren't my fault."
"I don't see no chicken and I don't see no Spot, neither."
I looked around at the table all cockeyed and the door opened, and she was right. Spot and the hen headed for other parts, leavin' me with the blame. Even at the tender age of seven, I knew the next step was a trip to the woodshed and a switchin'.
Ma took hold of my suspenders and walked me out the door.
"But, Ma . . ." I thought maybe whinin' might help, but it didn't.
I thought I was doomed for sure, but then I saw Spot standin' by the chicken house barkin' to beat all. Ma noticed too, and her hand eased up on my suspenders just a bit.
"That red hen got outta the coop and went to the kitchen. I was just tryin' to get her out an' Spot come in and he made the table fall down."
Ma let go of my suspenders and stopped in the middle of the yard. She looked at Spot by the chicken coop and she spotted the red hen stuck between the coop and the pig pen.
"All right, you're let off this time, but don't you go chasin' the chickens into my kitchen no more," she said. She turned about and went back to the house. I headed to the chicken coop and pulled Spot's collar 'til he backed off. I opened the coop gate and the little red hen, waitin' for her chance, ran like a house afire back into the pen. I slammed the gate behind her. I guessed she'd had enough fun for one day.
"You don't be comin' outta the pen no more," I told her stern-like. It didn't do no good, though. The next week she got out again. And the week after that. I don't think there was any keepin' that little hen in the coop once she'd been to the house. Finally, Ma just let her stay since it was just too much trouble tryin' to keep her out.
I guess that's the way of any critter. They like to run around as they please. I could understand it, as that's what I liked, too.
* * *
Pa's Story
World War I took many young men away from their homes and sent them off to foreign shores. Eddie's Pa was one of those young men. He has his own tale to tell.
IN 1916, I was still a young buck and not yet married, so I signed up with Black Jack Pershing to go after Pancho Villa. Ol' Pancho and his banditos came into US territory and killed a bunch of folks in Columbus, New Mexico.
I was real good with horses, so soon I was the veterinarian. This was just as well, as I didn't take well to using a gun. I'd never studied vetting in school, but I'd grown up on a farm in Nebraska and knew just about all there was to know about horses and mules. We chased Pancho and his gang just about all over Mexico, but never did catch up with him. A couple years later, I was still in the service, so I ended up goin' to France with Black Jack when he got to be a General. I could have decided not to go as I'd done my time, but I knew Black Jack could put me to good use.
We were on the troop ship for weeks. Everybody was seasick for the first few days. The horses seemed to fare fine in that regard, but I was worried we couldn't exercise them enough. We brought them up from the hold, a few at a time, and let them stretch their legs. We'd lead them in a quick walk around the deck. With the metal decks, we didn't want them to move very fast for fear they'd slip and fall.
I'd hate to have to put down a horse with a broken leg, so we took it real easy. As a result, the horses were not in good fightin' shape by the time we landed in France.
It took some time, but me and Joe, who got assigned to be my assistant, got them in shape again. Mostly the horses were used to pack gear, but a few officers still rode them. Black Jack Pershing liked to ride on occasion, as did Captain Patton. I thought we should only have mules, since they make better pack animals than horses, but there were never enough mules to go around.
We weren't in too many battles directly as we were the supply line for the army, but in 1918 it turned pretty bad when we went into the Argonne Forest. They called this an 'offensive.' I can see why as it offended me a lot. The fighting went on for nearly two months and only ended in November when the big guys signed the Treaty at Versailles.
In that short two months, it was hell on earth. Thousands of men died. One whole division, the 77th, was cut off for near a week and held out surrounded by the German forces. It was some battle, I can tell you. Almost all day long, I could hear the shells bursting and the sharp reports of rifle fire. And I heard the screams of dying men and horses.
The worst part for me was the horses being swept up in the middle of the battle. It broke my heart to go out on the fields after the fighting passed by and after the dead and wounded men were collected. Sometimes the ground was so soaked with blood that my boots were covered before I got back. A horse with an artery torn open bleeds gallons of blood; men only a few pints. It angered me when I thought how much the horses gave. They didn't even have a say in goin' to war. Men, at least, had a choice.
I carried a sidearm and had to shoot more horses than I can count. Those we could save, we'd bring back to the line and see if we could treat their wounds. It was a second heartbreak when they wouldn't heal proper and we'd take them out behind the tents to put them down. We dug a deep trench to bury them for health reasons and we kept digging every day to hold them all.
While we treated the horses, close by we could see the wounded men being brought back from the battlefield. Legs and arms were already gone or had to be cut off by the doctors right there in the field. From the history I'd read about the Civil War, this was just about as bad. If the choice was amputate or die, then they had to do what was necessary. We dug another trench to hold the arms and legs the doctors cut off; the dead soldiers we wrapped in oilcloth to be sent back behind the lines, where we hoped to send their bodies back home to their families.
All told I spent twenty months in France. It was the worst part of my life and I hoped and prayed we'd never see another war like this again.
* * *
Pa's story made me sad in a way, though I was proud of him for what he did in the war. It seemed to me people should learn to get along. I never was sure why Pa had to go to France. Later in my own life, I'd learn what it was to go to war. I was lucky to not go overseas, but somethin' in me wished I had.
* * *
The Corn Patch Incident
Barn raising is a community affair that takes place in almost all rural societies across the country. In Texas, nearly every community event also includes a barbecue, although it's sometimes by default. It all depends on why the barn needs raising.
A LITTLE TORNADO came through last week and Nate Simmons' barn got flattened. Specially bad for Mr. Simmons, two cows were in the barn at the time and didn't make it out alive. All it meant was there was plenty of meat for a barbecue when all the neighbors came around to rebuild the barn.
The cows got butchered right away and Mr. Simmons managed to sell quite a bit, but there was still a good half left over for the barbecue. My Pa and me went to help set up a pit right after and, by the next Saturday, it was ready to put the half cow on the spit. It does take a couple of days to roast a half, so Mr. Simmons got it fired up on Thursday, so by Saturday it was pretty much ready to go.
All the neighbors gathered up their tools and their families. We packed up and headed over to Mr. Simmons along with everybody else. Mr. Simmons brought in a load of lumber so everybody just brought their tools. We got there in the mornin' and the men made good progress on clearin' the scrap from the old barn and startin' to frame up the new one. They salvaged what they could, stackin' the good lumber to one side. They built some rough tables from a few pieces that wouldn't be any good for the barn. Of course, people brought along chairs and such as they knew folks would need some place to sit come meal time.
The ladies, bein' warned, already baked up biscuits and pies. More'n one family brought a kettle full of beans or potatoes ready to serve. They set those around the fire pit to keep warm while the work of barn raisin' was in progress. I helped by carryin' tools and boards to the men while they worked. It got pretty noisy what with all the poundin' and sawin' goin' on.
Along about noon, we could smell the beef pretty good and it made my mouth water. Ma called me over and handed me a gunny sack.
"You go fetch corn, Eddie. We'll need mebbe fifty ears so don't come back without that many."
"Yes'm, Ma. Can I take along Sister? She can pick the low ears while I get the high ones."
"Sure enough. She's gettin' big enough to carry her weight," Ma said, then she went back to stirrin' the kettles sittin' next to the pit.
I grabbed Sister, who's really Dorothy, but we called her Sister. Anyways, we took off to the corn field and proceeded to pull the ripe ears off the stalks. It takes the right eye to get the ripe ones. Some folks have to peel back the silk from the ear and take a look. Me and Sister had done this so many times, we could tell just by how fat the ear looked. So, we were movin' along pretty good and had about half the ears Ma said to get.
I looked down the row to see how far we'd got when I saw a skunk traipsin' up toward me. First off, I wondered what the little polecat was doin' out in the middle of the day. Most often, they hunt at night. I stopped quick and looked around to see where Sister was. I couldn't see her, so I decided just to let her know.
"Hey, Sister. There's a skunk up here, so don't go up the row no more," I yelled.
"What row, Eddie?" she hollered back.
"The row I'm on," I answered and wondered why she couldn't have figured that out herself.
"Which row, I say-ed?" she asked again, soundin' a little disgusted now.
"This darn row!" Why didn't the fool girl know which row I was on. Then, it occurred to me I didn't know where she was neither.
"Say somethin' again and I'll find you."