Monday, May 2, 2011

Vermin in the Hen House

The hen house erupted in a riotous uproar. The quiet of the evening was broken by the sounds of terror ripping the silence to shreds. Dad went for his gun.

Raised in a pacifist home, I was a child who detested guns and fighting. Yet, when Dad picked up his gun, we knew it was for protection of his livestock, his farm, his family. There was no debate. Dad disappeared into the darkness gun in hand.

As a child, I was terrified when the noises erupted. The animals were good at warning of threat. Once in a great while, someone would sneak back the lane going to the back of the barn to steal gasoline from our tank. The dog sounded the alert, and again Dad picked up his gun.

There was vermin always ready to find a meal in the hen house. The eggs were part of our livelihood, our food. I may not like chickens, but they were essential to our life back the lane. Dad was always fearless and ready to protect his own.

Often we saw Dad go out to investigate possible intruders, human and animal. When tornadoes were a threat, Dad sent his family to the basement while he checked the animals, the barns. He was our protector never thinking about himself, always doing his duty to animal and family. I feared every time he walked out the door to do the task. I feared the night that might hurt him.

A president gave the order. A nation became stronger, braver. Justice was finally served. There are times to pick up the gun. There are times to rid the chicken house of vermin.


Anonymous said...

Oh Pam,I so felt comradery on so many levels while I read this particular blog! I could relate as in my mind's eye I saw Willard - and also my father - going out with the shotgun to protect the farm and family. And then comparatively, a President protecting us and our wonderful country we love. Thank you for your words, your insight, and yes my friend, your wisdom!

Pamela Loxley Drake said...

Carla, it was the way on the farm. I worried every time Dad left the house with the shotgun in hand. The sound of Cyril's dogs barking. Odd animals cries at night always put me on alert. In a world of quiet, the noises are large.