Pappy has lost his way

Not so long ago, my dad retired. Last summer, things seemed to go OK. He traveled some, gardened some, joined a golf league, and drove several hundred miles to see Connor and weed my garden beds shortly after Connor’s birth or to see KSU play Marshall – depends how you look at it.

This summer, I think my dad has a little too much time on his hands. Everything started out the same. He traveled for a few weeks, planted his garden, and continued to play in the golf league. But about midway through summer, something in him snapped. He decided to declare war on the squirrels and rabbits that were destroying his garden. Mind you, most people would be delighted to have my dad’s harvest, and sometimes my mom (the primary canner and cooker in the house) wishes it weren’t quite so bountiful. A neighbor leant him a “no-kill” trap because, after all, my dad is a total city slicker who still can’t believe my mom once purchased live chickens and gave him the instruction to chop their heads off when she was ready to prepare them. He reports from this experience that chickens do, indeed, walk around once they have been relieved of their heads, though I don’t think my dad carried out the actual slaying.

He set up the trap and then went to a family reunion on my mom’s side of the family. My mom’s side of the family is not littered with city slickers. They are the real deal. They don’t eat food out of cans and processed meats. I suspect every one of my mom’s siblings has murdered an animal for their dinner, and my dad got some great advice from her cousins when he told them he had started the trapping business. They suggested he get a gun. Instead of following their advice, my dad has started perhaps the largest animal relocation program taking place within the city limits. So far, the count is:

12 squirrels
7 birds
2 raccoons
1 ’possum
and 1 rabbit.

All of the animals have been released into a nice forested area on the other side of a highway near my parent’s home – except for the birds. They are granted their freedom in the backyard.

Connor, may you continue to scribble and remain blissfully unaware of whatever it was that snapped inside your Pappy. Maybe he should get a blog.

Elaine