Carey
Extraordinary
As I told you, you can't punish them...sO, what can you do? ignore it, do nothing to endorse such behavior and in a couple of years give or take....In Pebbles case though an exorcism might be in order...lol
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It's all in how you laugh
- Thread starter Carey
- Start date
Carey
Extraordinary
Okay here is a true story, well mostly, after all their is my literary license, my sense of poetry in writing, copyright infringement to avoid and some of it comes second hand and Grandpa was an even bigger lying fool then I ever was...lol
After my grandfather broke his back he lost his job as trainer for the local college. He had to wear a metal cage that looked like a mid evil torture device. I even had nightmares about it....Anyway he had to move his horses...He couldn't ride so he needed a space we could exercise the horses that was close to the our house. It was quite a change, went from light and airy in the good weather heated when cold to the cold damp basement of a broken down barn. I could spend a lot of time telling tales of each place. It was like even then I was there but only to there to collect what I needed to write a future best selling novel...You have to remember I was the chicken talker back then. Grandpa had a more poetic way of putting it, "Shit fer brains"
Well getting back to the story after telling you, I was a straight A student in school and I had no real need to tell you the other. It does pain me some, I mean the name "chicken talker" is one of those words that really means something else much worse that really isn't so..Was the fact I was about as useless around the farm as the left last hind tit on a boar hog, there was that certain age where That might. Well enough on that I've got a story to finish and you have better things to do then listen to a bunch of tall tales. (it's all in the novel should I ever remember it all).
The big problem with this barn was.....THEY HAD RATS.....Now these weren't them little skittish city rats, these where huge country raised wild cat red eyed snap tailed demons or as I liked to call them, "I'll wait in the truck Grandpa...No please just this once, all right I'm coming" It was not fair TV at the time had gun toting cowboys on every night and every Saturday afternoon and my mother wouldn't even give a fella a original Roy Rogers BB gun, signed and everything to defend himself with.
Into the barn to take care of the horses..."men don't scream, men don't scream" I think they call that a silent prayer. It was certainly a very reverent wish on my part. Dead rats in the water buckets, holes in the feed bags and chewed leather.. I had already tried explaining to grandpa that if I had that Roy Roders bb gun, the one with Roy Rogers genuine signature on it I'd take care of those devils and I wouldn't even be afraid. The only other way I could see tackling the problem was 200 hundred cats mean as mishandled kittens......Things came to a head when one day I went up to get feed for the horses from the feed shoot and several growling rats came out and leaped on my leg, I had cookies in my pockets, my ill gotten bounty from grandma's kitchen...I screamed like a little ninny.. I ran out of the barn, stopped dropped and rolled. it got rid of the rats but my cookies didn't survive neither did my bravery, my manhood took a considerable hit also, lucky I was only seven and most of my manhood has recovered since then. I looked up there was grandpa with a pitch fork at the ready, it was then I realized I was still screaming...
I didn't get my bb gun and Grandpa well he got two cats, just two cats, so what if one had only one eye and hissed at everything. Grandpa locked one in the tack room, one in the barn...No, that was fine I thought, but I knew mighty mouse and the rats we had could whoop him.
Now what I am about to tell you is family lore, Things passed on around the camp fire of family reunions..
The story goes that one winter day Grandpa went out to take care of the horses, when he opened the barn door there were dead rats and blood littered all about the floor in sort of a circle and no sign of a cat. Grandpa opened the heated tack room and there was "One eyed Jack" the cat laying dead on the floor with a dead rat still in his mouth.. The other cat was in a corner of the tack room under a saddle and wouldn't come out...
Now over the years I must admit the rats got a bit larger and meaner in the telling, but grandpa tok me to one eyed jacks grave and showed me the cross he made for him and my grandfather wasn't a man to care much for any animal except horses, yet he saw fit to give that cat a christian grave.. He never stopped bragging about that cat long as he lived which was only a few years as he died of lung cancer six months before John Wayne did.....
From my novel "Chicken Talker"
After my grandfather broke his back he lost his job as trainer for the local college. He had to wear a metal cage that looked like a mid evil torture device. I even had nightmares about it....Anyway he had to move his horses...He couldn't ride so he needed a space we could exercise the horses that was close to the our house. It was quite a change, went from light and airy in the good weather heated when cold to the cold damp basement of a broken down barn. I could spend a lot of time telling tales of each place. It was like even then I was there but only to there to collect what I needed to write a future best selling novel...You have to remember I was the chicken talker back then. Grandpa had a more poetic way of putting it, "Shit fer brains"
Well getting back to the story after telling you, I was a straight A student in school and I had no real need to tell you the other. It does pain me some, I mean the name "chicken talker" is one of those words that really means something else much worse that really isn't so..Was the fact I was about as useless around the farm as the left last hind tit on a boar hog, there was that certain age where That might. Well enough on that I've got a story to finish and you have better things to do then listen to a bunch of tall tales. (it's all in the novel should I ever remember it all).
The big problem with this barn was.....THEY HAD RATS.....Now these weren't them little skittish city rats, these where huge country raised wild cat red eyed snap tailed demons or as I liked to call them, "I'll wait in the truck Grandpa...No please just this once, all right I'm coming" It was not fair TV at the time had gun toting cowboys on every night and every Saturday afternoon and my mother wouldn't even give a fella a original Roy Rogers BB gun, signed and everything to defend himself with.
Into the barn to take care of the horses..."men don't scream, men don't scream" I think they call that a silent prayer. It was certainly a very reverent wish on my part. Dead rats in the water buckets, holes in the feed bags and chewed leather.. I had already tried explaining to grandpa that if I had that Roy Roders bb gun, the one with Roy Rogers genuine signature on it I'd take care of those devils and I wouldn't even be afraid. The only other way I could see tackling the problem was 200 hundred cats mean as mishandled kittens......Things came to a head when one day I went up to get feed for the horses from the feed shoot and several growling rats came out and leaped on my leg, I had cookies in my pockets, my ill gotten bounty from grandma's kitchen...I screamed like a little ninny.. I ran out of the barn, stopped dropped and rolled. it got rid of the rats but my cookies didn't survive neither did my bravery, my manhood took a considerable hit also, lucky I was only seven and most of my manhood has recovered since then. I looked up there was grandpa with a pitch fork at the ready, it was then I realized I was still screaming...
I didn't get my bb gun and Grandpa well he got two cats, just two cats, so what if one had only one eye and hissed at everything. Grandpa locked one in the tack room, one in the barn...No, that was fine I thought, but I knew mighty mouse and the rats we had could whoop him.
Now what I am about to tell you is family lore, Things passed on around the camp fire of family reunions..
The story goes that one winter day Grandpa went out to take care of the horses, when he opened the barn door there were dead rats and blood littered all about the floor in sort of a circle and no sign of a cat. Grandpa opened the heated tack room and there was "One eyed Jack" the cat laying dead on the floor with a dead rat still in his mouth.. The other cat was in a corner of the tack room under a saddle and wouldn't come out...
Now over the years I must admit the rats got a bit larger and meaner in the telling, but grandpa tok me to one eyed jacks grave and showed me the cross he made for him and my grandfather wasn't a man to care much for any animal except horses, yet he saw fit to give that cat a christian grave.. He never stopped bragging about that cat long as he lived which was only a few years as he died of lung cancer six months before John Wayne did.....
From my novel "Chicken Talker"