More Work Things

Today we were wrapping summer sausage.

“Here,” I said, tossing a slice to Brenda. “Try it.”

We ate our respective pieces and I looked at the order sheet.

“Hey, it’s made with goat,” I said.

“It’s pretty good,” she said, “made with goat and all.”

“Goat and pork. Now I can say I’ve eaten goat meat.”

“Not very much of it, though.”

“I would like to make a stew out of it,” I said thoughtfully. “Goat stew instead of beef stew.”

“Kid stew,” said Brenda.

I looked at her and we started laughing.

"Oh that's bad," I said. To myself I thought, I didn't know Brenda liked dark humor.

Brenda and I have lots of fun together. She's fifteen, oldest of seven siblings, and quiet until--like most quiet people-- she opens up. She has a pony and a horse. She's a fast worker. She was incredibly easy to train.

Yesterday Eugene tried his hand, or shall I say, his gun, at shooting blackbirds. They clustered across the field and in the tree all morning.

Eugene went outside with his gun. I have no idea what sort of a gun, but it had a trigger and a long barrel with a hole at the end. Hopefully that explains things.

I stood at the window and looked at the birds. They were very happy, out in that field, and for a second I felt sorry for them. In the next, however, I looked at Abraham who was also standing at the window, and we laughed.

Eugene walked over and sighted. I hoped he wouldn’t hit my car. A little puff of dust hit my car and the birds scattered into the air. Two of them flopped over.

Eugene came back inside and we watched the two unlucky ones. After a while, they righted themselves and started hopping into the air but it appeared the flying mechanics had given out.

Crippled, we observed.

Abraham shouted at Eugene. “Gun no good? Or you no good?”

“I don’t know,” said Eugene.

“I bring my son’s shotgun tomorrow,” promised Abraham.

I woke up to ice covering every visible surface and rain hitting the window. The car door cracked when I opened it, and the windshield wipers swiped puddles away. It's a lovely mess of rain outside and a lovely mess of dead cows inside. It's Kill Wednesday instead of Ash Wednesday. It's also Bacon & Ham Wednesday.

Barbara owes me money. I'll absolve her of her debt if she brings me a blueberry chai.

Byeeeeeeeee.