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Posts Tagged ‘campbell’

  1. Killing, Part VIII

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    July 7, 2011 by wcobserver

    It was about six weeks later when he failed to show up one evening. With memories of snake bite fresh in mind, I went out the next morning to find him. I searched the yard, the pond, the woods on all sides of the house. No Reeces.

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  2. Killing, Part VII

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    June 30, 2011 by wcobserver

    Reece also frequented the pond, not just because it offered dragonflies and lizards, but also because he enjoyed walking in the shallow water where he stalked frogs. He seemed unconscious or at least unconcerned that his feet and legs became wet. (This principle held when he would decide to investigate a half-drained bathtub.) It wasn’t unusual for a day to pass without Reece being in the house, all while Elmo James loitered on the couch. Elmo’s take on life was to shmooze it up with petting as often as he could get it, so persons passing by the couch might find themselves suddenly solicited by a friendly paw, as if to say, “Hey wait a minute, didn’t you forget something?” Elmo fulfilled his life duty by holding down the furniture. So it was unusual when Reece ran through the kitchen late one morning and then disappeared into the depths of the house. With no subsequent reappearance, an investigation ensued. Room after room, in all the familiar spots, Reece could not be found. Finally, in the back corner of the closet of the farthest bedroom, there crouched Reece’s Pieces. Blood covered his face, which was swollen horribly around the right eye. …

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  3. Killing, Part V

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    June 18, 2011 by wcobserver

    My dad’s mother found a big one once in her chest of drawers and, not wanting to spoil her nightclothes folded there, she lifted it out with a hoe before taking it outside of her Cane Hill home to chop off its head.

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  4. Killing, Part IV

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    June 9, 2011 by wcobserver

    I ran back into the house for the gun and then returned to call off the dogs. Being duly proud of their discovery, of course they were loath to back off their prey.

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  5. Killing, Part III

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    June 5, 2011 by wcobserver

    Killing wild things that seemed to threaten something of value was standard routine in our early years on the hill: a possum in the chickens, a raccoon in the corn, and poisonous snakes anywhere. Copperheads were our particular concern with young children racing around in the woodland yard. Stealthy and well disguised, copperheads seemed to possess a particularly belligerent attitude so that once you crossed their path, they would just as likely come after you as go the other way. At least, that’s how it seemed to me. I was moving a brush pile once, grabbing limb after limb to throw onto the cart when I realized I was eye to eye with a fat old copperhead. It was coiled, watching me. Later we figured I would have been bit except for the fact that it had just shed its skin and its eyes were still filmed over. The husband dispatched that one. The neighbor in the cabin across the road told us he’d gone to crawl under his house to check on his water pipes and discovered a mass of copperheads. It was spring and they were probably breeding, and probably had spent the winter under there where the …

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  6. Killing, Part II

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    May 26, 2011 by wcobserver

    The hen was not there. Instead, she had – by some remarkable skill of clairvoyance – perceived a looming threat and abandoned her happy pecking grounds amid the luxuriant tomato vines to travel all the way down the garden drive to the edge of the woods near the pond, where she moved along at a steady pace, not running but not pecking at things and not looking back. Who me? A sudden observer would have sworn to her status as an innocent passerby. Unappeased, I emerged from the shade of the tree line and stood in the garden drive to take aim, not willing to walk closer for a better shot. She might make a run for it or fly into the trees. I was determined to end her cavalier crop destruction. It was a matter of aim and range. I wasn’t a practiced marksman. In fact I had never killed anything before in my life. At 50 yards, I expected that at best my shot would hit her body, that she would flop and squawk and run off sideways. I would have to go down to the pond to finish her off, use up maybe a half dozen bullets …

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  7. Killing, Part I

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    May 19, 2011 by wcobserver

    by Denele Pitts Campbell The game hens we ended up with were as bad if not worse than the Banties we already had, as far as going wherever they pleased and being completely beyond our control. In spite of extreme wing clipping that mostly contained the Bantams, the game hens couldn’t be kept in a pen. If I could have given them back to the people who gave them, I would have, but they had given up their game cock project. One of them remained a patriarch of the mountain, but his partner had moved on, so there was no going back. Over the next couple of years we had learned to spread chicken wire over the tomato crop to keep out these roaming pecking machines. It seemed a reasonable expectation that summer as the tomato crop ripened in the heat of August that we’d have a great crop. I sat out the big pots on the kitchen counter ready for making ketchup and went to the garden. But as I neared the plants where just yesterday beautiful red tomatoes had been hanging thick, I discovered with skyrocketing blood pressure that one or more ambitious game hens had managed to …

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