Culvert Mozart Lane
folder
Original - Misc › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
7
Views:
1,665
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0
Recommended:
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Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Original - Misc › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
7
Views:
1,665
Reviews:
0
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
All names have been changed and the location obscured for obvious legal and privacy reasons. Brenden, who supplied the recordings this was transcribed from, is the only named character who is is still alive.
six
-
I’m glad little Janelle was too young to understand much at her mother Sally’s funeral. She asked a few uncomfortable questions. I tried to explain by saying her mother and ‘father’ went away, so that my wife Nora and I could love her and take better care of her than her parents.
Nora fixed the cute redheaded toddler’s depression instantly by getting her a lollipop on the way home from the funeral. Nora wasn’t a fan of how I often cheered her up. Whenever I had a gassy stomach, I relieved it by barking like a dog, burping out, “BOW WOW!” I also tried to make my sneezes sound like a cat, “uh… uh… MEW!” Nora seemed annoyed at the silliness, but my sweet little granddaughter giggled and smiled every time. She cutely began burping “BOW WOW”, too.
My wife was polite to her and helped me take care of Janey, but mainly saw the little sweetie as yet another chore to handle. She’d mothered five children already, and seemed quite tired of it. She helped Janey with baths and anything else bathroom or clothing-related, but I did the rest.
Raising Janey was a joy to me, one of the best parts of my life. She slept on my back in her pajamas for the first week, until I finally convinced the nervous little tyke her new bedroom, her mother’s old room, was safe and there were no monsters under the bed.
That was the only week of my adult life I was voluntarily celibate. Nora wasn’t enthusiastic anymore but still willing to handle my needs nightly, once our granddaughter was safely out of sight and earshot.
The precious girl sat in my lap or held my hand any time she could. Once she turned five, I drove her to school on the first day of kindergarten. I stayed the whole first day, and for the first half hour of school the next week or so. The school bus had a stop at the end of our driveway, but I kept driving her to school and picking her up every day, until she turned eight.
She was nervous without me and I greatly enjoyed her company. Any time she wasn’t in school, my little female shadow followed me everywhere. Janey’s abilities were limited by her age and size, but I’d never had a more eager and attentive helper. She couldn’t lift much, but there was nobody better at picking up the nails, bolts, or tools I dropped; or running to the house and back to retrieve a thermos of coffee or my lunch.
I was happy Janey grew up as a tomboy. She loved being outdoors, and liked helping me with dirty, sweaty ‘man’s work’. One of our happiest times in her childhood was actually quite hard work. She passed me wrenches and bolts when I replaced the near-dead engine on my old tractor. By the end my hands and lower arms were covered with dirty old engine oil, like hers were.
When I finished putting in the last bolt, I leaned down near her face and smiled. “Mission accomplished! You’re a great little helper. BEEP!” I tapped the tip of her nose with an oily finger.
She laughed, then smeared her filthy hands on my cheeks. “And you’re a dirty, dirty Grampy! Hehehe!” We had a brief tickle fight, then walked to the house. We and our clothes were grimy from our faces to our knees, coated with gunky black oil.
When we walked inside, Nora sighed and commanded, “Don’t touch anything ‘til you wash, Janey! You’re filthy! Is any part of you clean, or a girl?” The three of us chuckled and smiled. That night she dozed off watching a movie, sitting in my lap. I gently carried her to her bed and kissed her forehead goodnight.
I started teaching my step-grandsons gun safety and hunting when they were eight, and treated her the same. She enjoyed shooting even more than the boys. I started her out with a single shot .22 caliber rifle, but she asked to try my sixteen-gauge shotgun. They quit making sixteens long ago, and it’s near impossible to buy shells anymore. I was glad my pal Edgar reloaded all kinds of ammo.
I cautioned her of the shotgun’s powerful recoil, and reminded her to tuck it against her shoulder tightly. She fired it three times, at only fifty pounds and age eight, despite the obvious pain it inflicted on her shoulder. By the time she’d shot fifty rounds with a rifle, she was more accurate at long range than any of the boys, maybe even a better shot than me!
As with many new hunters, she cried the first time she shot a rabbit. Like the first time my father took me hunting, she smiled but shed a few more tears as I gently stroked the hare’s fur saying, “Thank you for the food, my little friend.”
She showed wisdom and compassion with, “That’s why it’s important to be accurate? So they don’t hurt much?”
“Exactly. Always aim for the heart, or the head if you’re close enough. We need to hunt for food, but we like animals and only shoot ‘em so we can eat. And we only take what we need. Wasting life is a sin against nature. That’s why we only cut dead trees for firewood, and let the live ones be. You’re upset, so I think that’s enough today.” I rested a hand on her shoulder.
I was impressed again when she said, “Yeah, but just one bunny isn’t enough for supper. Let’s hunt some more.”
I got another rabbit a few minutes later. I lit a cigarette as we crossed the muddy pasture between the woods and hog barn. She asked, “Why don’t you smoke in the woods?”
“The risk of fire, and most animals have good senses of smell. I always shower before I hunt, and I don’t smoke until I’m done. A shower with no soap washes off most of the smells that can scare away game. It’s not so important for squirrels or rabbits, but a deer or moose can smell a cigarette half a mile away, or a sweaty person at two hundred yards, soap too.”
“You hunt mooses?”
“Hehehe! One is a moose, and two or more are still called ‘moose’. I haven’t yet, but I want to go to Canada and try. There haven’t been any moose around here in a long time, since I was your age.”
She asked, “Can I go deer hunting with you this fall?”
“The rules for kids hunting are kinda strict. Since you’ll only be nine, we can only carry one gun and need to stay within two steps of each other, but I don’t see why not. I’ll get deer licenses for both of us and we’ll take turns shooting.”
“Great! I’m gonna get the biggest buck ever! Twenty points, at least!”
I explained, “You can’t eat horns, and the big ones are the healthiest. It’s better for us to cull the weak, take down the less impressive ones, so the healthier deer get a chance to breed and make the next generation.”
“Yeah, I guess.” I was startled when she grabbed the cigarette from my mouth and said, “I need to celebrate my first hunt with a smoke!” She proudly held up her rabbit with her other hand.
As she inhaled deeply, I said, “Your gran would be mad. Don’t tell her.”
The little cutie practically coughed out a lung, hacking and wheezing as she turned an odd shade of purple. “ACK! UGH! Tastes so bad!”
I smiled as I took the cig back. “You get used to it.”
-
I’m glad little Janelle was too young to understand much at her mother Sally’s funeral. She asked a few uncomfortable questions. I tried to explain by saying her mother and ‘father’ went away, so that my wife Nora and I could love her and take better care of her than her parents.
Nora fixed the cute redheaded toddler’s depression instantly by getting her a lollipop on the way home from the funeral. Nora wasn’t a fan of how I often cheered her up. Whenever I had a gassy stomach, I relieved it by barking like a dog, burping out, “BOW WOW!” I also tried to make my sneezes sound like a cat, “uh… uh… MEW!” Nora seemed annoyed at the silliness, but my sweet little granddaughter giggled and smiled every time. She cutely began burping “BOW WOW”, too.
My wife was polite to her and helped me take care of Janey, but mainly saw the little sweetie as yet another chore to handle. She’d mothered five children already, and seemed quite tired of it. She helped Janey with baths and anything else bathroom or clothing-related, but I did the rest.
Raising Janey was a joy to me, one of the best parts of my life. She slept on my back in her pajamas for the first week, until I finally convinced the nervous little tyke her new bedroom, her mother’s old room, was safe and there were no monsters under the bed.
That was the only week of my adult life I was voluntarily celibate. Nora wasn’t enthusiastic anymore but still willing to handle my needs nightly, once our granddaughter was safely out of sight and earshot.
The precious girl sat in my lap or held my hand any time she could. Once she turned five, I drove her to school on the first day of kindergarten. I stayed the whole first day, and for the first half hour of school the next week or so. The school bus had a stop at the end of our driveway, but I kept driving her to school and picking her up every day, until she turned eight.
She was nervous without me and I greatly enjoyed her company. Any time she wasn’t in school, my little female shadow followed me everywhere. Janey’s abilities were limited by her age and size, but I’d never had a more eager and attentive helper. She couldn’t lift much, but there was nobody better at picking up the nails, bolts, or tools I dropped; or running to the house and back to retrieve a thermos of coffee or my lunch.
I was happy Janey grew up as a tomboy. She loved being outdoors, and liked helping me with dirty, sweaty ‘man’s work’. One of our happiest times in her childhood was actually quite hard work. She passed me wrenches and bolts when I replaced the near-dead engine on my old tractor. By the end my hands and lower arms were covered with dirty old engine oil, like hers were.
When I finished putting in the last bolt, I leaned down near her face and smiled. “Mission accomplished! You’re a great little helper. BEEP!” I tapped the tip of her nose with an oily finger.
She laughed, then smeared her filthy hands on my cheeks. “And you’re a dirty, dirty Grampy! Hehehe!” We had a brief tickle fight, then walked to the house. We and our clothes were grimy from our faces to our knees, coated with gunky black oil.
When we walked inside, Nora sighed and commanded, “Don’t touch anything ‘til you wash, Janey! You’re filthy! Is any part of you clean, or a girl?” The three of us chuckled and smiled. That night she dozed off watching a movie, sitting in my lap. I gently carried her to her bed and kissed her forehead goodnight.
I started teaching my step-grandsons gun safety and hunting when they were eight, and treated her the same. She enjoyed shooting even more than the boys. I started her out with a single shot .22 caliber rifle, but she asked to try my sixteen-gauge shotgun. They quit making sixteens long ago, and it’s near impossible to buy shells anymore. I was glad my pal Edgar reloaded all kinds of ammo.
I cautioned her of the shotgun’s powerful recoil, and reminded her to tuck it against her shoulder tightly. She fired it three times, at only fifty pounds and age eight, despite the obvious pain it inflicted on her shoulder. By the time she’d shot fifty rounds with a rifle, she was more accurate at long range than any of the boys, maybe even a better shot than me!
As with many new hunters, she cried the first time she shot a rabbit. Like the first time my father took me hunting, she smiled but shed a few more tears as I gently stroked the hare’s fur saying, “Thank you for the food, my little friend.”
She showed wisdom and compassion with, “That’s why it’s important to be accurate? So they don’t hurt much?”
“Exactly. Always aim for the heart, or the head if you’re close enough. We need to hunt for food, but we like animals and only shoot ‘em so we can eat. And we only take what we need. Wasting life is a sin against nature. That’s why we only cut dead trees for firewood, and let the live ones be. You’re upset, so I think that’s enough today.” I rested a hand on her shoulder.
I was impressed again when she said, “Yeah, but just one bunny isn’t enough for supper. Let’s hunt some more.”
I got another rabbit a few minutes later. I lit a cigarette as we crossed the muddy pasture between the woods and hog barn. She asked, “Why don’t you smoke in the woods?”
“The risk of fire, and most animals have good senses of smell. I always shower before I hunt, and I don’t smoke until I’m done. A shower with no soap washes off most of the smells that can scare away game. It’s not so important for squirrels or rabbits, but a deer or moose can smell a cigarette half a mile away, or a sweaty person at two hundred yards, soap too.”
“You hunt mooses?”
“Hehehe! One is a moose, and two or more are still called ‘moose’. I haven’t yet, but I want to go to Canada and try. There haven’t been any moose around here in a long time, since I was your age.”
She asked, “Can I go deer hunting with you this fall?”
“The rules for kids hunting are kinda strict. Since you’ll only be nine, we can only carry one gun and need to stay within two steps of each other, but I don’t see why not. I’ll get deer licenses for both of us and we’ll take turns shooting.”
“Great! I’m gonna get the biggest buck ever! Twenty points, at least!”
I explained, “You can’t eat horns, and the big ones are the healthiest. It’s better for us to cull the weak, take down the less impressive ones, so the healthier deer get a chance to breed and make the next generation.”
“Yeah, I guess.” I was startled when she grabbed the cigarette from my mouth and said, “I need to celebrate my first hunt with a smoke!” She proudly held up her rabbit with her other hand.
As she inhaled deeply, I said, “Your gran would be mad. Don’t tell her.”
The little cutie practically coughed out a lung, hacking and wheezing as she turned an odd shade of purple. “ACK! UGH! Tastes so bad!”
I smiled as I took the cig back. “You get used to it.”
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