My Small Country Life

Published Works
Favorite Photos
Useful Links
Contact Karen
Archive Newer | Older

Tuesday, September 15, 2015

Suicide or Murder?


Was it suicide or had the victim met with foul play?  'More likely it was feline play.  I'll never know for sure, but the little hapless body floating face down in the dogs' water bowl suggested the work of Tiny who has taken over Sissy the serial killers position.  Tiny is the prime suspect despite her sleepy innocent persona.  This morning she abruptly interruped her breakfast to scurry over to the fridge where she sat with that intense 'I know you're in there' look on her face. 

Just about that time a bewhiskered little head ventured right out from under the appliance to inquire if anyone had seen his brother who had gone missing the night before.  Poor dear.  I didn't tell him he'd been flushed down the toilet.  Instead I stomped my foot and he retreated, most likely down one of the smooth-edged holes in the kitchen flooring; holes that tell the tales of mice from previous centuries. I'm pretty sure he'll be back.

As an aside, it seems the magic ingredient in Kenny's miracle cure water is a diuretic!  That John Ellis is a sneaky character.

5:22 pm edt          Comments

Monday, September 14, 2015

Miracle in a Bottle?


The past two days have been spent lying on the sofa with a pounding headache, a sore throat and fever.  No, not the flu, but the unsurprising allergic reaction to the tall ragweed that towers over 15' next to the brick porch.  The original springtime plan had been to keep this evil vegetation cut down, but the damaging storm followed by the broken tractor derailed that plan and so the tall ragweed grew and flourished. 

Today I hired Al to chop it to the ground.  He worked like a beaver all day in the blazing sun and will have to return tomorrow.  Only I am happy to see this devil weed gone.  The dogs and cats loved making tunnels through the thick stalks and the birds feasted on the seed heads, but alas all will have to find other pastimes because tall ragweed has joined multiflora rose on my list of most-hated plants.

Not feeling well is a drag to be sure. Obviously I could not help with the eradication project , but it was impossible to write with such a headache and while the sun was warm, fever kept me huddled under a thick blanket most of the day.  Even so, Kenny needed to be fed both days.  Yesterday I took leftover homemade pasta dressed with fresh tomato sauce with all ingredients from my garden.  A homemade muffin was the proffered dessert.   Today I discovered the remnants of that meal next to Kitty's bowl.

"I see you didn't like your dinner last night," I scolded.  "You gave it to Kitty!"

"Yes, the cat liked it." 

I hope not to see tonight's dinner next to Kitty's bowl when I go up there tomorrow!  Kenny wanted to come down to my house, but I explained that wasn't possible because I was not feeling well.  That's when he produced "the cure."

"You just drink one ounce of this every day and it will fix you right up," he promised handing me a sealed (thank goodness...) bottle of John Ellis 114 degree water.  I thanked him and headed for the truck as he rambled on about the amazing healing powers of what was inside that bottle.

Now, according to the listed ingredients on the label, this bottle contains John Ellis 114 degree water and absolutely nothing else; no vitamins, no calcium, no iron or anything else.  The directions say that it can be consumed straight from the bottle or mixed one ounce to one gallon of my current drinking water.  John Ellis water "...should not be microwaved!"  But I suspect any magic  this tonic may possess is in the recommended dosage; "...half of your body weight in ounces per day."

That much of any water would surely flush whatever ails a person from the system.  I'm having my first dose before retiring for the evening and will report any miraculous healing tomorrow. At least he didn't  suggest taking me down to Jacob Miller's machine!



8:38 pm edt          Comments

Thursday, September 10, 2015

A Brief Escape.


Again my truck bed was filled with papers destined for the township recycling station after a day of clearing and cleaning at Kenny's, so I asked him if he might like to go for a little ride although I knew the answer before uttering the question. 

He'd spent the day sulking behind the wheel of his red truck.  He was wearing the same cowboy shirt he'd had on all week, coveralls, the infamous green hat with fleece-lined ear flaps (down) topped off with a white yachting cap.  I can only wonder how he conceives these costumes.

"You must change that shirt," I said.

"No, no, it's okay the way it is," was his response.

"It stinks.  You must put on a clean shirt or you may not go," I countered as if bribing a child and within two minutes he'd made the switch to a clean blue one.

On the drive to the township building he talked about corn and soybeans and about his pal Spic who is still in a nursing home following a fall that broke his hip and required surgery. 

"Have you been to visit him," I asked.

"Yes, but he falls asleep while I'm talkin' to him."

When I suggested he was probably drugged Kenny agreed for this was definitely not Spic's usual behavior.  Spic has always been chatty and squirrely.

"I want him to go down to Jacob Millers," Kenny continued.  (JM is one of his Amish friends.)  "He'll put him into this machine he has and Spic won't have any more pain," Kenny claimed with great authority. 

God only knows what kind of machine Mr. Miller puts his patients into, but Spic is reluctant to go.  ‘Probably a good decision.

4:58 pm edt          Comments

Thursday, September 3, 2015

Another Sad Day.


The soil was as hard and unyielding as the rocks I unearthed while digging the grave.  The insufferable heat made the sad task even more difficult, but Sissy the serial killer has now been laid to rest.

I was leaving Sunday morning to visit a friend in Cincinnati for a couple of days, but when Sissy failed to appear for breakfast that morning I suspected something was amiss.  She was an enthusiastic diner and always the first to be served.  Calls and searches inside and outside the house were futile.  Before setting off for my road trip I left a note informing the critter sitter of Sissy's worrisome absence.  When I returned on Tuesday the sitter said she too had searched everywhere just as I had, but she was still gone.  That night the dogs and I searched once again, but to no avail.

Today I discovered the sweet gray kitty who had worked diligently to rid this property of any and all rodents during her decade-plus residency here.  Her bloated body was hidden under vegetation right next to the house.  How had we not found her?

Like most all of my four-legged friends, Sissy was a foundling.  She and her helpless litter mates had been tossed into a drainage ditch in the old quarry.  I remember being dressed all in white the day I discovered them.  A pair of tiny ears poking over the weeds caught my eye as I rounded the curve.  I pulled the truck over and discovered the four kittens in the muddy ditch.  After crawling down into the mire to retrieve them, my ensemble was no longer white. 

Neighbor Sandy took two of them and another friend took a third, but no one wanted the sleek kitty I represented as "a rare Russian Blue" to anyone who might have appeared even remotely interested.  Sissy was meant to live here.  The athletic girl didn't have close pals like most of the other cats, but kept to herself stalking the grounds for mice and moles which she delivered to the porch right until the day before she vanished.

While rodents will certainly rejoice in her departure, the rest of us are sad.  RIP, dear Sissy.

4:44 pm edt          Comments

Archive Newer | Older

This site  The Web 

You are visitor:

© 2009 Karen L. Kirsch