Now it was my turn to do some neck craning and hissing. Then with no regard to the fact
that I was outside and it was broad daylight, I streaked (literally) across the yard, abandoning
my t-shirt in my wake—and headed for the nearest shower.
Common sense dictates that a hundred and (mumble, mumble) pounds far outweighs 10, and
all it took was a little short course in weight dynamics to drive this point home with Brewster.
One look at the little chicks and I was devastated. Their roof was still intact, but the rain had
blown in from the sides and drenched them, then the cool wind had done its bit and the end
result was that I had some motionless baby chicks on my hands.
She nodded at me and I could see that she accepted my explanation, and had acknowledged
that she bore no culpability in the Great Chicken Tragedy.
"You gotta go to sleep at some point, boy," he said ominously. "don't ya know that? Aren't
ya gonna answer me?"
"But dad, you just told me not to say…"
"Are … you … talkin'?!?"
Ever so slowly she came within a few feet of me, and then like a gift, she sidled up to me
and put her head in my lap. I was terrified I was going to do the wrong thing, so I didn't
move for a few seconds and then cautiously, I put my hand on the side of her face and
rubbed her stubborn little cheek. She stood there for a full thirty minutes while I petted and
talked to her and in essence, we made up.
"You're gonna walk four or five miles in the dark by yourself?" She asked incredulously.
"I don't particularly relish the thought, but right now it sounds like a lot better idea than
getting left out here in the dark. At least right now I have an idea how to get back."
The boys, apparently having seen such scenarios before, put their heads together for the
next plan of action while Jill stood and blinked at me in the darkness.
"I can't let you walk back. I know you, it would be emotional suicide."
At that moment I was the most wretched creature on earth. It felt like the worst kind of
betrayal. It was only moments, but it seemed an eternity before the pig was finally still and I
let out a low sigh of relief.
He came down on his front feet and lunged, catching me on my right butt cheek. For once
in I don't know how long, I did not fall down or get knocked down, but held my ground. I'll
admit, the impact did bend me in the middle a little bit, but since I normally bend there
anyway, I came through it with nothing more than a throbbing butt.
"I can't go under the house." He said.
"Why not?"
"Because I'm a fat man."
"I'm fat, too," I objected.
"Not as fat as me."
Any other time I would have taken that as a compliment. Now it just sounded like a death
sentence, because I knew I was going to have to crawl under the house with the spiders
and the snakes.
I had just congratulated myself on managing to get through the whole afternoon clean; no
dust, no mud. I took an early shower, put on a house dress, and was ready for bed. The
last thing I wanted to do was walk all the way back to the boar pasture in the dark and deal
with a "situation." I slipped on Fred's Georgia mud boots, he was in boxers, shirtless, and
wearing a pair of hastily donned sneakers. I grabbed the spotlight, and Fred grabbed the
hotshot. We were as prepared as we were prepared to get, until we saw what was up.
Well, the proverbial fecal matter hit the propulsion system, there was a bunch of yelling, a
flood of tears, and a great deal of finger pointing, and things were said that can never be
taken back. I didn't have the heart to punish anybody, they were too busy punishing
themselves and each other.
Fred and I had just finished feeding, when Jake came walking up from the woods with his
rifle. He glanced at us, and then headed to the house to put his gun away.
"Wait a minute, son, don't go anywhere." Fred said.
"Why? You need my help?"
"No. I need your gun." Fred said abruptly. "I have to shoot Clementine."
My head snapped up, and I pinned my eyes on Fred. It wasn't so much his answer that
caught me off guard, as he had been threatening to do it for quite some time. It was the
conviction behind the statement, that knocked the wind out of me.
"Shoot Clemetine?” I asked. "Right now?”
"Yes.” Fred replied, not meeting my eyes. “I can't put it off any longer.”
Why I didn't hear the rhythmic thump from the electric fence box when I went back out is
beyond me. The sound carries, especially in the night, and sometimes you can even hear it
inside the house. I guess I was so intent on getting out there to do a new head count and
check on Lily, I just wasn't paying attention. I gingerly lifted the strand of barbed wire and
ducked under it, simultaneously stepping over the goat fence with my left leg. I was
straddling the goat wire, holding the flashlight in one hand and the barbed wire in the other,
when the inside of my left leg touched the electric wire and the current hit me. For about ten
seconds I had no idea what was happening. All I knew is that I'd gone stiff all over, bitten
my tongue, and my heart felt like it had swelled to three times it's normal size and then just
stopped
Fred and I looked at each other. Before we had a chance to react, there was a response
bleat. Weak, trembly, infant-like. I had heard this type of goat conversation before. One of
the young nannies had kidded and now she had misplaced the kid. By the sounds of things
she and the baby were both fit to be tied. I struck out in the dark, tripping over whatever got
in my way until I got to the back gate. I don't know what I hoped to accomplish stumbling
around blindly, but at least I could make an appearance and let the little mama know that we
were aware of her plight.
