Journal of a Living Lady #152

 

Nancy White Kelly

 

You probably know by now that my Buddy is the love of my life. We will celebrate thirty-seven years of marriage in a few weeks. He and I gee-haw right well even though there are obvious differences. He is a morning person. I am a night owl. He likes breakfast. I’d rather sleep. Though Buddy is low-key and I am high key, we share similar values, goals, likes, and dislikes. He can read my mind and I can finish his sentences.

 

Through the years, we have shared in the caring of many animals: horses, cows, monkeys, skunks, goats, and even pigs. Add to that a gamut of hamsters, guinea pigs, fish, and a multitude of birds. 

 

Buddy has the uncanny ability to communicate with most any warm-blooded creature.  I’ve seen him work his magic with Mississippi mules as well as with blue-blooded Minnesota pheasants. All our animals have taken to him with the exception of a couple of cats.

 

Currently Buddy is building a relationship with a cocky, bantam rooster named Dusty. Every morning, as if on cue, Dusty and the Missus hop up on the rail of our back porch.  Dusty screeches his high-pitched cock-a-doodle-doo. Buddy puts down his morning paper, crumbles up some old bread, and throws it out on the ground. In the evening, Mr. And Mrs. Dusty come again for their bedtime snack. Buddy obliges. Missus follows along too.  Dusty rules.

 

This is February, but Mr. Dusty convinced Mrs. Dusty that it is spring. Maybe he was genuinely confused by the recent warm weather. Regardless, Mrs. Dusty has obediently laid eggs, even though the farm calendar clearly says it is the dead of winter. Mrs. Dusty is sitting inside Buddy’s shop on top of a bucket of nails and screws covered with bits of straw that Buddy gathered from the pasture. Mrs. Dusty ruffles up when anybody comes around, except Buddy. He is permitted, even welcomed.

 

Dusty often visits Buddy while he tinkers in his shop. It is a comical sight. Dusty will hop on the car while Buddy’s head is under the hood and knock off his hat. Buddy talks to Dusty like a disobedient child.

 

“Now why did you go and do that?”

 

Dusty chortles while Buddy climbs under the car to retrieve his cap. A few minutes later the scene repeats. It goes on until Buddy’s arthritic knees plead mercy.

 

I don’t know what we will do with those baby chicks when they hatch. Mr. Dusty isn’t worried. Neither is Missus. Both know Buddy will take good care of them with the welfare bread and 100% subsidized rent. When spring comes, they won’t need any help. Both will fare quite well in the barnyard. Missus will cheerfully repay Buddy’s kindness with a multitude of banty eggs. Dusty will continue to seek out Buddy when he is bored and they will entertain each other like old friends.

 

Yesterday I found Dusty patiently perched on the kitchen counter. Buddy was digging through the bread bag for the end piece.  After hand-feeding Dusty some crumbs, they went back outside to play.

 

Without a complaining word, I followed behind with a can of disinfectant. I vigorously sprayed. No telling where Buddy had been and what germs he brought in.

 

nancyk@alltel.net  Order the book, Journal of a Living Lady, P.O. Box 285, Young Harris, GA. 30582 - $14.95.