Mabel & Eunice and the Freakin Frickin Coyotes

Well, it's been a while since there's been any news fro Mabel & Eunice's place. But like anything else there, it's always momentous. I hope you enjoy the story.

Mabel and Eunice and the Freakin’ Frickin’ Coyotes




Things had been pretty quiet out in the country for some time; so much so I figured the old gals had retired. Me and a couple of coyotes should’a known better. Well, you don’t go pokin’ a sleepin’ tiger with a sharp stick unless you’re on the other side of a very strong fence now do you? I knew that much but apparently there’s some creatures in God’s creation that are just a little too curious to pay attention.

Things had been pretty quiet around the old home place for a while. All the young sparkplugs had grown up and left the nest for the city and things were just a bit eerie around there, what with all that quiet goin’ on. Mud, the goofy old mutt had got really old and eventually passed on so that all that was left moving in the house was the ghostly cats. Things was just too quiet for anybody’s liking.

Of course, this was now a subject for discussion – lively discussion. That was one thing that hadn’t changed. Them two were still at each other, hammer and tong. The one thing they agreed on was that things was too quiet for their liking. Well no, that’s not entirely true either. They also agreed that some of the brats coming home the odd weekend was about as much as they were prepared to put up with too. I mean, what the bleep was phones for anyways? Jeez, they all come around with their adult opinions and there was never no end to the arguments. And they was too big and too old to tell them to just shut up. Least wise, on the phone you could just hang up and that would be the end of it. But it still left something short. Something was missing.

As far as Eunice was concerned, they needed another dog. She missed old Mud somethin’ fierce. She’d had her since she was a wee pup, and every time she though of her, she kind of choked up. “We’ll go to the freakin’ dog pound,” she declared emphatically. “We can pick up a dog there that needs a good home.”

Mabel spied down over her glasses – she was wearin’ glasses nowadays. “Eunice,” she said thoughtfully. “Eunice, you ought to know better than to call it a dog pound. There ain’t no such thing no more as a dog pound. You got to keep up with the times, old girl.” There was a faint twinkle in her eye.

Of course, Eunice took the bait before she realized she was being put on. “Well then,” she more or less roared, “what do you call them places where the dog catcher takes the dogs to be put down?”

“They’re animal shelters Dearie,” said Mabel, kind of snooty. “They’re run by the SPCA, and that’s what they do – they shelter animals, they don’t put them down no more neither. It’s not a frickin’ abbatory, you know. Kind’a classy, don’t you think?”

Eunice still didn’t catch on. “Well I don’t care what you call them places, classy or not, we better get our sorry arses down there and check them out. Who knows what we’re goin’ to find.”

“Talkin’ about your classy,” Mabel continued slyly, “I was kinda’ thinking more along the lines of one of them Korean Pot Bellied Pigs. Not many people got them you know. Everybody and his dog got a dog!”

“Is your brain froze up Mabel?” Eunice ripped off. “What kind of nit-wit ideas you get into that head of yours? Classy indeed! If you’da mucked out as many pig barns as I have you’d soon get to know that a pig – any kind’a pig, belongs in the meat section of the supermarket!”

Mabel had hit a nerve, maybe even overstepped her bounds. Eunice was just getting wound up.

“And if you think, even for one bleepin’ second that I’m goin’ to step in pig shit in our kitchen or living room or wherever, you’re gonna want to re-program your brain DEARIE!” She smiled that stupid innocent smile of hers.

Not willing to concede her obvious loss, Mabel convinced Eunice to go to the ‘Animal Shelter’ on Saturday to see what they could find. True to form, they went excitedly to the place, arriving there just after it opened in the morning, intent on an adventure. They didn’t leave there until late in the afternoon, and then not by themselves either. No, they had not one, but two dogs in tow. On the way home, they of course stopped off to pick up a carload of dog food, dog toys, and everything else dog they could get their hands on.

To say the rest of the weekend was something akin to a riot would not be overstating it. For one thing, the ghostly cats threw a fit, such as ghostly cats do. They’d just got over being rid of Mud and had the house to themselves when these two intruders showed up. You never heard such a lot of growling and hissing. The dogs, oblivious to the poison being spit on them by the cats were busily exploring their new digs. They sniffed and snorked every nook and cranny and before long had everything memorized and labeled in their minds.

Well, if they hadn’t been royal classy dogs before, they certainly were now! The boy dog was a Corgi/Border Collie cross – one of them favorite dogs of the Queen, so they named him Charles – after Prince Charles. Seemed fitting. And the girl dog; she was a pure bred Basset hound, a little bit older than Charles and totally laid back, as Basset hounds are prone to be. She couldn’t very well become a Diana with that sort of personality. Eunice took to calling her Camilla, much to Mabel’s chagrin.

Well now, the little country home took on a sense of normalcy; in other words, a constant state of upheaval. Both Mabel and Eunice were in their glory amid the chaos. They were barking orders at the dogs and the dogs were barking in delight. It was pandemonium in paradise. The cats just skulked around and hissed.

The yard outside was a whole different story. Mud’s kennel had already been taken down so there was no place to safely put the dogs. Undaunted, the girls bought a whole lot of electric wire and ran it around the yard as a perimeter, hooking it up to a plug-in. It was one of them electrified buried fence contraptions where you put a collar on your animal and as they crossed where the wire was buried, they’d get a shock. It’s very effective if you’ve got the collar on and great to keep your pets in a confined space. It doesn’t take account though the other critters that don’t have a collar on – like skunks, foxes, coyotes, deer and bears that criss-cross over the yard as it pleases them. And that was the problem. Over the years, the bears and foxes had got used to the place and pretty well minded their own business. But now a large pack of coyotes had moved in to the area and were wreaking havoc with the neighborhood. In fact, one night just after dark, the dogs had been out and the girls heard a squabble going on. It seemed they called the dogs just in time. Otherwise they’d have been a couple of morsels for the coyotes. As it was, they were pretty well beat up.

This was not good. It was obvious that the old girls had a dilemma on their hands. They loved to see the animals that frequented their place. But they didn’t love to see them destroying their beloved dogs. “Hmph,” Mabel muttered. “We sure as bleep ain’t gonna put up that bleepin’ kennel again. We just got the yard lookin’ decent and ain’t nobody gonna bleepin’ change it.

“Well now Mabel,” Eunice started. But Mabel set her jaw in the way she did when not even a bulldozer would budge her an inch. “We’ll come up with something. We always do.” She finished, having no idea of what it was they were going to come up with.

A glimmer of an idea began to form in Eunice’s mind though. She was your basic farm girl at heart, used to animals and livestock. There wasn’t much that would buffalo her for too long. She pulled on her boots and went outside, walking away from Mabel without another word.

Outside, Eunice romped around the fence line, checking every post and the barbed wire in between. A couple of the posts needed replacing, and the fence could use another string of wire. The front gate too could use replacing. An idea was forming in her mind. Damn! She’d have to get the brats out on a weekend to help but it’d be worth it. Having made up her mind, Eunice jumped in her truck and took off to the lumberyard. On the way home, she stopped off at the old McClintock’s place for a cup of tea. These old folks were in their eighties and no longer farmed. They still lived in the old house and the only animal they had left was old Queenie, the donkey who had become a family pet. John McClintock just hadn’t had the heart to sell her off.

Well naturally, that was the idea that was growing in Eunice’s mind – was the donkey. They’d had one at home amongst the cattle when she was a kid. That critter could kick the snot out of anything that got too close to her cattle any day of the week.

When Eunice broached the idea that she and Mabel could take care of Queenie at their place, and that Queenie could earn her keep by guarding against wolves, both Sarah and John were almost relieved. It was getting harder and harder to look after the animal and if Queenie could live out her days close by, they’d be much obliged.

Mabel was obstinately curious about Eunice’s mysterious activities. Eunice would only smile her infuriating smile and sweetly say, “I’m fixin’ to fix them bleepin’ coyotes without you havin’ to do your stupid dance with not shootin’ them. Remember how you screwed that up with the skunk. Why don’t you give Howard a call to come over and give me a hand for a day?”

The easiest way for Mabel to find out what was happening was to pretend it wasn’t happening. She sat in her big chair watching TV, totally ignoring Eunice and her activities. It was maddening. All week long they played the cat and mouse game, neither one giving in. Even on Saturday when Howard and his girlfriend showed up, Mabel pretended not to know anything. By this time Eunice was fit to be tied. “For God’s sake woman,” she lamented, “don’t you even care what’s goin’ on?”

“Didn’t know anything was goin’ on,” Mabel retorted, blank faced.

“Well if you’d pay a little attention to what’s around you instead of starin’ at that bleepin’ idiot box all day long, you’d know I’m workin’ like a dog to keep the dogs safe!”

“Well of course I know! What do you think – I’m blind?”

“Well why didn’t you just say so? Besides, you don’t even know what I have in mind.” Eunice put that hurt expression on her face as though she had been wounded by her friend and went storming outside to give Howard a hand.

Mabel didn’t really know what was up, but she knew it would be something momentous. Eunice had never let her down before and this time would be no different, she knew that much. Her and Howard and his girlfriend were outside working away at the fencing and building a new front gate. It was a real production. When they were done Howard came in the house, said his goodbyes, raided the fridge and left. Mabel thought now Eunice would spill the beans about what she was up to, but no, she followed Howard out of the driveway in her truck. They made a big production of opening and closing the new gate, and went their separate ways.

Well now Mabel was poised for some kind of surprise, but certainly not what came up the driveway about an hour later. Eunice drove up hauling the strangest looking trailer, followed by John and Sarah McClintock in John’s old fifty-seven Monarch sedan. After she closed the gate, Eunice drove to the far side of the garage and unhooked the trailer. That was more than Mabel could bear. She and the dogs came out of the house to greet the McClintocks as they got out of the old car. The dogs were all over the old couple in greeting.

“I hope this is gonna work,” said old John. He walked around to the far side of the garage. A moment later he emerged with his Queenie in tow. Well, almost everybody took a step back, including the dogs. They didn’t even bark. When they got their bearings, they slowly moved forward to sniff at the strange creature in front of them. The creature did the same. She shook her head, made a couple of grunts, and began to make her way around the yard, the dogs in tow.

“Well, I’ll be!” exclaimed John McClintock. “I never seen anything like this before. Looks like they’re old friends. By gum, I think this is gonna work out.”

The donkey made straight for the fence and everyone worried she might break out and take off home. But no, she walked up to it, sniffed it and started to go along the whole perimeter as if inspecting the workmanship. When she got to the northeast corner, she stopped and brayed several times, then moved on. Charles and Camilla of course couldn’t go that far because their electrical perimeter was much smaller. But they kept up with Queenie from within their own confines, watching her closely. Having finished her inspection, she came back to John and Sarah, nuzzling them for a moment as if to tell them they could leave, and went to grazing.

Both Mabel and Eunice were completely dumbfounded. They couldn’t believe what they had seen. Mabel brought out a pot of coffee and some dainties she had hurriedly hauled out of the freezer and warmed in the microwave oven and they sat around the patio table watching the goings on. For a time the dogs lay down at the perimeter of their electric fence, watching the donkey with interest. The donkey made herself completely at home, grazing peacefully.

Mabel’s face suddenly brightened up like a rising sun. “We’ll call her Elizabeth,” she said, grinning to herself. She’ll be Queen Elizabeth and Charles and Camilla will be her children! It’ll be just like having the real royal family at our place!”

It was that very night that Queen Elizabeth exercised her royal authority over her newfound realm. Mabel and Eunice were both rather anxious to find out how this whole situation would play out so they deliberately let the dogs out just at dusk and set themselves down at the patio table with a mug of coffee and a good supply of patience.

“Ain’t it just delightful,” said Mabel, crooking her little finger as she lifted her cup of coffee, “to watch our royal family bein’ freakin’ royal?”

“Just like the real thing,” Eunice allowed.

The dogs were playing unconcernedly and Queenie had come into their periphery to graze and be close to them. It was indeed a sight to behold. They were reluctant to bring the dogs in to the house and had left them out longer than usual. They were about to call it a night when Queenie suddenly looked up. Her ears were twitching and she was uttering little snorts. She stood like a statue.

There were moving shadows in the northeast corner of the yard. Queenie waited. As if on a signal, she bolted for the corner quick as lightening, kicking and braying and raising an enormous racket. The dogs high tailed it for the patio and hid under the chairs and the girls sat there, mesmerized. There were a couple of loud thuds and then he braying stopped. Queenie herself now walked regally over to the patio.

The girls were up and all around the donkey, petting and congratulating her. Even the dogs came out of hiding and were licking her hooves. Queenie hadn’t had this much attention ever and she basked and delighted in it, standing proud and royal and taking it all in.

“Y’know Mabel, we ought’a send a letter to the Queen herself. She might just give our Queenie a frickin’ medal. She deserves it, don’t you think?”

“Naw, just give her a bit of oats. She’ll appreciate that more.”

Well, there’s really little else to tell except the girls went out the next morning to see what damage had been done. They found two coyote carcasses where the kafuffle had occurred, one with his head bashed in and the other with crushed ribs. Eunice loaded them up on the truck and took them to the dump. When she stopped by the McClintocks and told them about the adventure, old John wasn’t at all surprised. “She’s just doin’ her job and glad of it. Them coyotes are still out there, but as long as she’s around, they know the rules now and won’t bother you or the dogs.”

Mabel snickered when she heard what John had said. “Well it looks like anybody tries to horn in on our royal realm is going to get their arses kicked. That’s the way a Kingdom, or rather Queendom ought to be freakin’ run.”

# # # #

New blog page coming

The View from the Top Shelf

The last project my friend and I worked on was far from the fanciest bit of woodwork we had ever done. But it pretty well summed up what life is all about. Quite amazing. We made a number of little tripods on which a picture could be placed, and the whole business then put on a shelf somewhere. Amazingly, each of our children who had received these as gifts, immediately placed them high up on a book case shelf from where our picture pleasantly looked down at them. I saw this as a metaphor, several, in fact.

Firstly, we were put up out of harms way so we could no longer interfere in the particular family’s business, while still harmlessly in view. The perpetual smiles on our old faces in the photograph would gaze down approvingly on everything that went on in that household.

Not bad. But I read something else into that positioning. It kind of looked like we had outlived our usefulness and thus we were put up on a high shelf, out of the way to gather dust. That took a bit of getting used to. It was sort of like cutting the apron strings all over again, except that this time, it was our children doing the cutting. Well, you have to get used to your own reality, and once having done that, you can make your own choices.

Not one to say the glass is half empty; I chose the one that is half full. I suddenly saw our place in the family from a whole different perspective. Perched on this high plateau, I had an amazing view of everyone’s activities; their successes, their failures, their mistakes and screw-ups. Of course we’ve seen all that before. We had in fact been part of it all. But now it’s changed. Now we are only observers, footloose and fancy free. What a spectacular view! Our children and grandchildren have become part of the general population and we are free to do whatever the hell we like. Aside from the odd obligatory visit or phone call we are, for all intents and purposes – dead. Hallelujah! Let me tell you there’s nothing like being a healthy dead. Mind you, one must take things into account like the effects of gravity, wear and tear on the body, degeneration of this part and that, and even replacement parts that don’t work near as well as the originals. But that aside, this kind of dead ain’t so bad.

Having the benefit of hindsight of about sixty years, give or take, we can pick up where we left off at the age of seventeen or so when all that hormonal activity forced us into adulthood and all its attendant foibles. This time we can focus on enjoying ourselves to the degree that our aging bodies allow without the worry of consequences. If, in the course of following our own pursuits, we happen to cause a bit of embarrassment or even concern to our now middle aged children, let them worry about it. We’ve done our fare share of worrying over them. Turn about is fair play.

We can no longer be held responsible for knee-slapping laughter every time one of their children puts a dent in the family car, or plays hooky from school, or becomes unreasonably unruly and runs away from home. Aw - - - Tee hee; not our problem. That’s funny! Well it wasn’t so funny thirty years ago when we were going through all these problems ourselves, but now from our lofty platform, it sure looks that way.

Well that opens up a whole new vista of possibilities! If I look around, I find that most of the movers and shakers in the world around us are either the same age or younger than our own brood. And mostly, they aren’t any smarter either. In fact, some of them are a whole lot dumber. (I could name some examples) Why should I only pick on my own brood when there are so many targets to entertain me and fill in my time? Well, don’t get me started. I think I’ll open another blog page and start firing in some anecdotes. Who knows, if I do enough of them, it could turn into another book. Hm. So look for a new page in the next week or so. I think I’ll call it “View from the Top Shelf”. Should be an adventure.

I Pissed in the Measuring Cup

Well I never thought I'd print this story. I never even thought I'd write it. But situations come up you know, where one thing reminds you of another, and the first thing you know, your imagination takes over and you find yourself doubled up laughing at the possibilities. That's exactly what happened here so I actually put it up on You Tube and within an hour, twenty other people were laughing at it as well. So I thought I'd share it with you.

I Pissed in the Measuring Cup

The rumor of what the black servant women put into the chocolate cake mix in the book “The Help” just cracked me up, given the hoyty-toyty group of women they served it to. It was the ultimate justice in my mind. Little did I know that a similar scenario would play out within my own circle of friends. It was totally precious because it involved an aging group of people. Let me tell you about it.

Larry is an aging musician who works from home. It’s a pretty good arrangement now that the kids have grown up and left the nest. He can arrange and play, even compose if the mood strikes him without a whole lot of interruption. And Maude doesn’t mind either. As long as there’s music in the house, things are as they should be. She merrily goes about baking and cooking for her children and grandchildren, hauling the foodstuffs over to them in her station wagon like any good mom and grandma would do. All in all, it’s a pretty happy household thirty days out of thirty-one.

But on the first Monday of every month Maude invites her lady friends over to what she calls her “book club” discussion group. These women get all eleganted up and sit around Maude’s living room discussing a particular book and/or it’s author whilst munching on dainties and sipping tea or coffee. Meanwhile Larry has to go out, to bed, or at the very least shut up. It’s a real burr under his saddle blanket.

Now I have to put all this into context. See, none of these people are spring chickens anymore. They’re what you call – aging. The ladies find it increasingly difficult to get elegant in the first place, and then to maintain that image through the evening takes some effort. What they do to compensate is to play soft background music so that if one of them happens to fart, it’s likely to go unnoticed. Well so far, it pleases Maude no end.

Larry normally goes over to his son’s place to jam with him and his kids – usually a good time, so it’s no great hardship. But Larry isn’t getting any younger either. He’s getting into what I call the prostate years. That definitely calls for some changes. Just because it’s not cancer doesn’t mean it’s not a problem. Not to put too fine a point on it, the whole plumbing system begins to seize up. You get your exercise by running to the bathroom every hour (night and day) and then when you get there, you either can’t go, or can’t produce more than about eighteen drops. So you can well imagine that Larry can become a little testy now and then.

Well, Larry decides to visit the doctor. He’s been nursing this ridiculous condition long enough. He figures if he can get a Roto-Rooter type job done on his plumbing that should provide some relief. The doctor agrees, but has to first do a scientific assessment of the problem. “For the next three days and nights,” he says, “Measure the amount of urine you pass each time you go, and mark it down. When you come to see me next week, bring the records with you.”

Easy enough thinks Larry. It’s a small price to pay for some relief. Now he has to stay home for the next three days; no problem. He has an old log-book he can use to mark down the details; also no problem. But what the hell is he going to use to measure his output with? Musicians aren’t naturally given to logical thinking.

Maude is out buying baking supplies for her tonight’s party, so Larry is left to dig around the house somewhere for something – anything by which to measure his urine output. Then he spots it. “Urethra!” he yells, laughing at his own joke. “I’ve found it!”

He hauls the small measuring cup from out of Maude’s cabinet. She’s not going to be happy with this, that’s for sure. “Aw, piss on it,” he jokes to himself, taking the thing into the bathroom. By gum, it works just fine. He pees, takes down the measurement and the time, rinses the cup, puts it on the water closet and forgets about it.

To make a long story short, Maude comes home with her baking supplies and gets right into it. She has to get prepared for her “book club” discussion group tonight with little time to spare. Predictably, she spots the measuring cup in the bathroom and hauls it into the kitchen, wondering what it’s doing there in the first place. Larry’s out so she can’t ask him. Oh well, looks clean, so she pours some cream into it and proceeds with her recipes.

Three-quarters of the way through her baking, Larry walks in the door – straight to the bathroom. The measuring cup is missing and he’s got to go! He marches into the kitchen and with a single swoop, grabs the measuring cup out of the sink and returns to the toilet. Job done, he logs the data, rinses out the measuring cup and returns it to the kitchen, saying nothing.

Maude is thunderstruck. She is just in the process of dumping the first tray of cookies onto the counter. Her hands fall to her sides and the cookies slide off onto the floor. Her facial expression is one of bewilderment. Larry sees this, walks over and scoops a couple of cookies off the floor, shoving them in his mouth.

Maude begins to cry. There is no time to start over. In a rare fit of sudden rage, she grabs the cup and hurls it at Larry’s head. Luckily, her aim isn’t that good and the cup lodges in the drywall above the table. “You, you, you, - what were you using that cup for?” She instantly regrets having asked.

“That’s my piss calibrator,” says Larry matter of factly, and walks away.

Good old Larry, never one to mince words. Well, he paid for that one. Maude phoned the bakery and Larry had to pick the order up. Cost him a hundred and twenty-four bucks. But he figured it was worth it.

Echoes from the Past - NO RUNNING IN THE HOUSE!!!!!

It's been a while since I showed up here. In fact, it's been a while since I've written anything. I had been so busy editing The Lost Letters for publication, I more or less forgot about writing for a while. Then the business of Attawatiskap came up and I was so incensed at the bungling of the government at it's handling, I had to shoot my mouth off. So I burned up my keyboard with as scathing a critque as I could muster, put it up on Youtube and sent it to my member of parliament. It's called "Rear View Mirror" in case you want to look it up.

Well, the upshot was that while I didn't much like to broach such a serious subject without my boxing gloves on, I did miss writing my little amusing stories. They give me much more pleasure. So I did a couple of them. Here's one I'd like to share with you. I hope you enjoy.

Echoes from the Past

“NO RUNNING IN THE HOUSE!” echoed through my septuagenarian brain the other day. It was as though a voice from seventy years ago pierced right through the ages - directly at me – as though I was hearing it for the first time. I stopped dead in my tracks for a second.

Actually, I was running – in the house. Picture this: If I get up out of my chair at my computer desk, take two steps into the hallway and turn left, seven steps gets me into the kitchen. Then I do a hard left at the freezer and bolt right through the kitchen into the dining room. Passing the dining room table, I do a looping left again around the coffee table in the living room and squeeze in between the couch and the TV. The path leads directly to my desk.

My calculator tells me that if I do that one hundred times, it should amount to about a mile. HOLY CRAP! I’VE GOT A BUILT IN INDOOR TRACK – RIGHT IN MY APARTMENT! All the other old farts walk up and down the hallways, stopping to say “good morning” to their fellow hall walkers, and of course, socializing and wasting good exercising time, while I, in the privacy of my own apartment, can whiz around the house in total concentration, counting laps. Cool!

So I start: one, two, three – oh – was that three or was it already four? Uh oh. Damnation, I can’t even count anymore. Well, you don’t defeat me that easy. I go into my penny stash and haul out a fistful of pennies and stick them in my pocket. Every time I pass my desk, I’ll drop a penny on my chair. That’ll do it! When I get finished, I’ll just count pennies and know how many laps I ran.

I start again: one, two, three – wait a minute, I already did three laps and I’m not wasting them. So I throw three more pennies on to the chair. Well, my stupid game leg is already starting to act up and I need all the mileage I can muster up. Seven, eight, nine – “NO RUNNING IN THE HOUSE!”

I never even noticed the wife lying on the couch, trying to watch TV while I’m looping around the living room. I can tell she’s annoyed. We’re at cross-purposes here. She’s lounging around watching Anderson Cooper interviewing his mother while I am grinding out my workout regimen, trying to stay fit and healthy for both our benefits.

Ten. “ALRIGHT!” I froze in my tracks, as I already said.

Wait, that wasn’t from seventy years ago. That was from right now! It wasn’t my mother either, it was my wife, for god’s sakes!

“And,” she opined, as if reading my thoughts, “if you really want to stay fit and healthy, wait ‘til I go down to the pool later and then grab the vacuum cleaner. Then you can run around the whole house and get even more exercise. That will benefit both of us.”

Don’t you just hate it when they come up with this strange kind of logic?

The Wonderer - Robert Service

After reading about and empathising with Russell Means titanic battle with cancer, I had just come home from the hospital after visiting a life-long friend of mine. I go there fairly often. This is a man whose prostate cancer has flaired up again, but that's not why he's in the hospital. You see, he's there for his son who, severly disabled, suffered a seisure and was injured in a fall. He is in intensive care with doctors working feverishly to bring him back to consciousness. My friend keeps a daily vigil over his son, more or less ignoring his own situation.

At home, I was looking for something that my friend would enjoy reading during his long daily stays and just by chance - by total coincidence (I think), I came across this poem by Robert Service to remind us of the marvelous gifts most of us have been given for the purpose of journeying through life.

We just don't realize what we have until we see someone from whom some of these gifts have been taken. Maybe it was a lesson for me. I thought I would share it with you with the hope that you too will be able to take inventory of the gifts in your life. You can see it on Youtube at

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D335rYk2wqE

Nestor's Mailbag New Names Department

I don't know if I posted this before, but I liked it so well, I'll do it (again).

New Names Department

Dear New;

It's me, Nestor! Holy Moley, youse guys is hard to find. I betcha you play hanky-panky in the bush behind the pond. Don't play hanky-panky. Horses run away with whole hayrack while you busy fooling around. Hoy boys - then you got a big mess! Lucky for you I notice on time.

Good job I don't raise pigs no more. Now I retired I sit on my balcony and have sausage and maybe a beer, I got time to watch out for you. I could even give you some friendly advice. Don't worry, it's free - no red tape attached. I ready to help anytime.

Just between you and me, maybe you should make a couple new departments. Well you got to fix that 'Make up New Names' department somehow. Hoy boys, what a mess! They're so sneaky to make up funny names. Could be they should go to ‘Make Up Names’ university. They gonna learn something then.

You see what they done? They cancel Happy Thanksgiving. They cancel Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, Happy Easter, Ramadan - everything. Now they got one word for everything. Holy Moley I get such a surprise! They make one big word for everything - 'Happyholidaysshopatmystorecheapskate' - that's it! Where they get this from? What you gonna say to people who got to work on holidays - like store employees? They got nothing to think about except they got no holidays. They gotta put on pantyhose and war paint and a big smile. They don't want to and say to customers 'happyholidaysshopatmystorecheapskate'. Hoy boys, they get grouchy. Well you'd get grouchy too if you gotta work on your holidays. What you supposed to say to them - 'happynoholidayspoorslob'? Big mistake! Everybody talks about holidays and nobody gets holidays.

What you think about when somebody says 'Happyholidaysshopatmystorecheapskate' and you got to clean the pig barn? You think 'I got to do this stinky job and I got no holiday'. Between you and me I betcha two kopecks this is KGB from big box stores plot to hitch up 'shopatmystorecheapskate' to celebration name. How come they don't say 'Happyholidaysshopatmystorecheapskate' when you get vacation? Vacation is holiday and they don't say nothing. Hoy boys, what a mix up!

Just between you and me - it don't have to go no further - somebody got to take a big broom and clean out the New Name department. Just like my pig barn - I don't clean it out all the time, it get stinky. People got to say things right. Then everything be okey dokey. I give you example.

You go to somebody's house puffing on smelly stogie like big shot and say 'Have a cigar!'  People say 'Phoo - that stinks. We don't smoke and get outta here with that manure stick!' Holy Moley, you make big mistake! But if you go to same people's place and say, we just had a baby boy! Here, have a cigar, they understand and say congratulations. They keep the cigar to remember. They know what it means and are happy for you. How come you so surprised? You think Muslims don't have babies? You think Buddhists don't have babies? Hoy boys, everybody proud to have baby boy. How come is so hard to be happy for somebody else's special occasion?

Neighbor says to me, 'Merry Christmas'. I say thank you. Then I say to him 'Happy Hanukkah'. He say thank you. Everybody feel good. In February I say 'Happy New Year' to Chinese guy I know. He get such a surprise. How I know it's Chinese New Year? He say thank you - same to you'. Everybody feel good.

In old country they say 'Christ is born.' People look forward to have birthday party. Then church says 'putmoneyincollectionplatecheapskate!' Hoy boys, somebody always got to spoil it. Somebody always gotta stick a big fat nose in people's business. Uh-oh - you smell a rat too? Big long words again - same KGB plot. Everywhere you go - same thing.

Okay, okay. All right already! You want to say politically correct words then you got to finish the business. People should only say 'happyholidays' if you got vacation – like if you fire everybody in ‘New Names’ department. Then you could say ‘happyholidays’.

Listen, you should drop by sometime. We could sit on my balcony – maybe have some ham sausage and some beer if my boy still got some extra. I could give you lots good ideas.

‘Haveaniceday’.

Your Pal

Nestor

Nestor's Mailbag - Department of Agriculture

Department of Agriculture - Cow Department

Dear Cow;

It's me, Nestor. I hope you don't mind I call you by first name, Holy Moley - you guys got big troubles these days! I figure out maybe you could use some help. It's my pleasure, anytime. Don't worry, it's free - no red tape attached. You ask what does old pig farmer (retired) know about mad cow. Hoy boys - you gonna get huge big surprise what old pig farmers figure out. I gonna tell you little story and if you listen good, you gonna get all answers.

I learn this from my brother Stashu, cowboy (retired). Stash, he don't want to be pig farmer like me and daddy. He says it's too stinky. One day he sees a Roy Rogers movie and then he wants to be hotshot cowboy, just like him. He even gets fancy shmansy ten-gallon hat to show off. ‘Ten gallons!’, I yell at him. What kind o’ giant cows you got give ten gallons milk? Stash says hat is not for milk. You put it on head like this. I gotta admit it looks pretty good. He think I don't know so he got to explain hats are for heads and pails are for milk. I tell him thank you for information. He calls me bunyak.

Next day Stash comes to my farm on horseback. Holy Moley that Stash he goes whole hog. He sits in the saddle with ten gallon on his head, leather vest and chaps, big silver spurs on his fancy shmansy cowboy boots, just like Roy Rogers. He thinks he such a hot shot, I tell him, 'Hey Stash, I thought you said you was cowboy. How come you don't ride cow'? He yells at me, 'Smarty pants pig farmer, how come you don't ride pig'. I tell him calm down. It's just a little joke. Hoy boys, that Stashu, he don't get it half the time.

Anyways, Stash hears on radio they got mad cows in England. Hoy boys, they got big troubles. Lots o’ cows got to take a trip to abattory. So many dead cows they got to dig ditches and cover them up just in case. What, Stash yells - they bury them without even finding out? Somebody's nuts, he thinks. After couple days Stash keeps thinking about mad cows. He can't help it. He got cows - maybe they mad! After while he says, I gonna find out and steps in to cow pasture. Big mistake! Stash is thinking so hard about mad cow he forgot to put coveralls over red flannel gotchies. He find out right away quick he got a mad bull - catch him right in the trap door with big horns and help him back over fence. Now Stash can't sit in the saddle no more. He don't want to go back to check on cows just in case they mad too, so he calls vet.

Stash tells the vet to come and check. That vet, he such a joker. He scratch his whiskers like wise thinker and tell Stash bulls is easy to find out. All you got to do is wave a red flag and bulls get mad. Lady cows is much harder. You got to take them to the abattory and slice up brains to check. Now Stash get really upset. He think about all his nice cows with sliced up brains. Holy Moley, once you slice them up, you can't put them back together! What a mess! How come, he asks the vet. Vet thinks a little bit, rubs whiskers some more and tells Stash lady cows is like lady people - very sensitive. Hoy boys, now Stash is getting depressed.

Vet says only other way to find out if lady cow is mad without slicing up brains for microscope, you got to give them therapy - just like lady people. Example - you see your missus got funny look on her face and you ask nicely what's wrong sweetie. She makes a funny mouth and says 'nothing'. You still worried and ask again. No matter how many times you ask she says same thing. Even if you beg she screws up her face and tells you 'If you don't know I not gonna tell you'! You say if she not tell you she gonna have to take trip to the abattoir to get her brains sliced up, she says she don't care.

Same thing with lady cows. You don't just yell at her and say 'What's wrong Bossy'? That way you never find out. You got to say nicely 'Come lie down here on nice straw bed. We could have lovely chat'. Once she get settled you tell how interesting she is. Maybe she would tell you about her life from when she was young whippersnapper to now.  Hoy boys, you talk nice like that and soon she sing like canary. Everything come out like flood. She says first, farmer put her inside  stupid barbed wire fence - wrong side. Everybody knows grass is greener on other side. She get scratched up neck just get a little bit of good stuff. Then some hotshot feed guy bring stupid vitamins with sheep brains in. Where he go to school? Sheep brains are for people who play bagpipes. Everybody know that! Hoy boys, Missus cow she spills the beans on everything. Pretty soon she has good cry and then she calms down. She says she feels much better. She not mad anymore. She says maybe we should do this again next month just in case.

Stashu, he don't know how to deal with this – is too much for him. He such a crybaby. It's too much for him. He says to me do I want to trade some of his beautiful cows for some o’ my ugly, skinny pigs - even Steven. I say 'sorry - border is closed'. He calls me bunyak again. What a grouch!

See, now that was a nice story. You get all the cow answers you need from pig farmer (retired). I always glad to share. Ask any time. Don't worry, it's free - no red tape attached. You should drop by sometime. We could sit on my balcony - maybe have some sausage and a beer. I could give you some more advice.

Your pal,

Nestor Kropatnik PF (Retired)

Nestor's Mailbag - CBC

We all know there are lots of things wrong with TV. Most of us just grumble and do nothing about it. Nestor at least, has something to say - and he "says it how is it."  Well - you be the judge.

CBC

Dear C;

It's me Nestor! Ha ha, I sure got you this time! You don't know if I call you by first name or last name. I pretty cagey sometimes. Is just a little joke. But I not writing to tell funny jokes. My letter got to do with that TV.

My daughter Olga, she now CEO of pig farm since I retire. First thing she do is put TV in pig barn so she not miss soap operas. Pretty soon pigs don't like TV and get grouchy so Olga give it to me for present. She such a sweetie, our Olga - always think about mommy and daddy! She tell me is nice company for lonely old people in apartment. I tell says don't be bunyak. For people to get advice I got to actually mail letters. Huh? I never think of that before. Maybe she got a point.

"Of course, daddy!" she say. She tell me I spend whole life talking to pigs in barn and wrong end of horse in grain field. It's time I learn something new. Hoy boys she make such a big production about it - set up TV on stand, hook up cable, line up my big chair just so and gives me zapper that looks like cattle prod with lots o' buttons to turn TV on.

"Okay daddy," she tell me. "Now you all set to see the world."

I tell her I gonna watch later. Right now I too busy visit with very important CEO of pig farm. She laugh and give me big squeeze. Who needs TV when you got daughter like that?

After daughter's visit, missus goes to bed and I decide to try this new TV. I sit in big easy chair, line up my eye to screen and pick up zapper. Now I ready to see world. I sit back, push power button on zapper and wait for warm up. Holy Moley! I bet you five rubles I jump a mile high for sure! Picture come on and there is bunch o' people with no clothes on and play hanky panky! I so embarrassed I forget all about zapper and pull plug out of wall! Fast like bunny I do ten Hail Marys just in case.

Next morning smarty-pants daughter phone to see how I like my TV. I tell her thing or two in mother tongue. TV is going in dumpster. She yell at me to don't touch TV. Calm down and she gonna come over right away and fix it. When she get here she send me to kitchen so I don't see. All of a sudden daughter lets out yell and string of words in mother tongue you only hear in beer parlor. Hoy boys! Where she learn that from?  She sound just like Metro who drive gravel truck.

She comes in kitchen with big red face and tells me, "Daddy you no supposed to watch Playboy channel! You too old for that stuff! But is okay now, I fix all up. Everything hunky dory."

I tell daughter to wash out mouth with soap and then she should show me what to do. She laugh and go to washroom and pretend to wash out mouth. Soon as I learn to work buttons on zapper and get list of stations, Olga say she have to go so pigs don't miss her too much. I remind her to play Mozart on radio for pigs when nobody's in barn. They like Mozart when they by self. When somebody in barn they like polkas and happy singing. Then they know food is coming.

I still little bit nervous about turning on so I figure out is good idea to wait 'til tomorrow. I get up early morning at same time every day. After nice bacon and eggs I take glass o’ tea and line up in front of TV. This gonna be good. Now I turn on weather channel. Nice lady standing there in skinny coat says is minus thirty-four, feel like minus forty-five with wind chill. Holy Moley! Sound very cold so I go on balcony to check. Fresh air smack me in face to say 'Wake up Nestor!' I get huge big surprise. It's beautiful day and I nice and cozy. Maybe lady make joke. Oh no - no joke. She say it again. Then I figure out, she only wear skinny coat and little shoes and stand outside with no mitts.

Let me give you little friendly advice. Don't worry, it's free - no red tape attached. Ladies who stand outside and talk about weather got to be dressed nice and warm. You got to put on pure wool gotchies, like you get from Eaton's mail order - and pure wool socks too. You button up trap door on gotchies nice and tight, put on coveralls and felt boots. You put on fur cap and mittens and you all nice and cozy, just like polar bear. Then you don't got no goofy wind chill to mix up people. Same thing in summer time when is plus thirty-four. Everybody stand outside in short pants and complain about heat. Don’t complain. Even in summer heat wool gotchies and socks soak up sweat and you still nice and cozy, just like polar bear. How come nobody get it? Sure, you got to wash underwear every month or else get real stinky, but is not like old days when you got to walk five miles to wash in river.

Only reason you need weather station is to tell if storm is coming. You see that was easy. I bet you could save lots o' money if you tell people just go outside and see how they feel and don't bother with goofy wind chill that nobody understand in first place.

But couple o' things you guys got pretty good. Other day I was watching on the TV early in morning and I get such a big surprise. I turn on biography channel and Hoy boys, I bet my boots I jump a mile high! Right there on the TV I see Peter Gzowski sit and talk to some live guys. Holy Moley! He sure look good for dead guy! He got nice beard, and twinkle in eye and don't got a hose in the nose to breathe like when he sick. They must have good health care system for dead people. He look like million bucks!

You guys must have super duper hot shot agent can get dead guys to come back for do shows. How you do that anyway? Must be cost small fortune for plane ticket from heaven to CBC just to do shows. No wonder you always broke. Let me give you little bit friendly advice, just between you and me. It don't need to go no further so government find out and cut your budget again. Don't worry, it's free - no red tape attached. My grand daddy used to say if you look after kopeks, rubles look after own self. I think he right. You should listen to him. Maybe next time you fly Gzowski in to do show, you could ask my grand daddy to come too. That would be good show with two dead guys.

But I get little bit worry about labor laws for dead people. Four times in same weekend I see same show with Gzowski. What you think of that? Every time everybody say same words, move same way, everything same. Must be smart guys to do same thing over and over without making mistake. I bet you they must be tired after all that work. Maybe they wondering too if audience tired of seeing everything four times in a row. Maybe people go on strike and change channel.

Good idea would be if you only do shows one time only, but get more dead people. I bet you could get fleet discount for bringing whole planeload at same time. See, you could save more money again. Look at that. Hoy boys! You could have whole big talent pool just waiting for exciting programs. Maybe you could bring George Washington to have nice chat with politicians about telling lies. That would be good one. How 'bout you bring Moses for tour guide to take Israelis for stroll in desert? He's a natural. He been there before. And if you want to make pigs happy, you bring in Mozart to play concert with fiddle. I don't know can he play polkas, but he got lots o' talent and he could learn fast pretty quick. Look at that! You play cards right you have whole new audience.

Listen, you don't need to say thanks. I glad to give free advice. Ask anytime, I like to help. You should drop by. We could sit on my balcony and talk about TV planning. I got some nice ham sausage and my boy lives close by. He always got couple extra beers. We could do lunch.

Your pal,

Nestor Kropatnik PF (Retired).

Nestor's Mailbag - Olympics

Olympic Sporty Guys

Dear Olympic;

It's me, Nestor. I hope you don't mind I write you when you so busy getting ready for summer Olympic games. I know is huge big headache to get everything ready on time. Huh, look at that. I just start to write and already I got good idea, but don't worry, I not send letter until after big bash. That way you get to keep nose in own business when you need it. We could have nice chat later. Is no big deal anyway. I just got couple questions about Olympic games. Would be good idea you should explain to people about it.

 In first place, how come you got so many sick athletes playing games? Everybody always got to go to drugstore - even coaches. After competition, test show they still got disease anyway. You really think this is good idea? Let me give you little bit friendly advice. Don't worry, it's free. No red tape attached. You should try old country remedy for sick athletes. You could make nice little necklace from piece binder twine and seven juicy cloves garlic fresh from garden. Just hang around neck for seven days. You get it - seven cloves for seven days? Works like magic every time and no more drug store medicine. If athletes really sick, put one extra clove between teeth and chew nicely. Hoy boys, you get huge big surprise how fast they get healthy and strong - even smell strong! 

Other thing would be good idea for you to explain to people is what means some of these games. Example - you got whole bunch o' people throw spears in goofy spear throwing game called javelin throwing. Everybody throws far as he can to find out who is winner. What kind of game is this? You got no bull's eye. What is point of throwing far if you don't even hit side of barn? Buffalo just laugh at goofy hunter - maybe give him taste of horn in seat of pants if he not careful. That would be good game - see how fast hunter can run other way. But first you got to find out how far buffalo can run before he get tire.

Maybe that's how you figure out relay race. Hunter miss buffalo, buffalo chase him so he give spear to other guy who run some more. Hoy boys - big mistake. Buffalo knows who throw spear. He don't care about other guy who runs and gives to other guy who runs too. He gonna get hunter with bad aim. Let me give you little bit friendly advice. Don't worry, it's free - no red tape attached. Hunter who throw spear shouldn't go sit down on bench. He should go to showers right away quick before buffalo find him, for sure!

That's 'nother thing you should explain to people. Races, I mean. What kind business is races supposed to be? First everybody line up on starting line, seems to take whole hour. Everybody take off pants and stand around in underwear shaking arms and legs like going to be hot shot magic trick. Then everybody crouch down to look for four-leaf clover when guy shoots off starting gun. All guys or girls take off like they gonna beat the bullet. Okay, is good idea, but they run hundred meters and stop and look around. What they looking for - the bullet? Don't they know man with gun shoot blanks?

Oh, calm down - I just make little joke. I know they not racing against bullet. But you gotta admit whole thing looks kind o' fishy. After whole huge big production to get ready for race, they run like deer for hundred meters, then they stop. Whole audience clap. Now runners look around little bit, put pants back on, and go sit down. Holy Moley, now I get it! They got to see who gets best pair o' pants.  Just like going to church on Sunday and come home with brand new pair overshoes. Is this good idea when everybody watching? No, no - you need new pants, you got to get a job, save up money and go to store and buy. Never mind swipe other guy's pants. What is guy who lose race gonna do - go home in gotchies?

Let me give you little bit friendly advice. Don't worry - it's free - no red tape attached. Don't give guys who run relay races no more little sticks to give to 'nother guy. You give them mailbag. Tell him to run to next town and deliver mail. Hoy Boys! Canada Post get huge big surprise! I bet my big boots they jump a mile high to get such good service! Then runners can say for sure they run for Canada - just like pony express. Look at that. They don't even need hot shot Olympic Committee. Only they got to keep pants on or some ladies get all excited.

Same thing with guys who throw spears. Hoy boys, you think I out of ideas already? No way Jose! This is Nestor you talking to. You want to do something useful? Spear guys should go to places where is lots o' grouchy Canada geese. If they get lots o' geese, they could feed whole army of people who go to food banks. Feathers make nice cozy blankets for homeless people. Well okay, if you want to give prize is okay - but only for head shots. See, I told you. Is easy to have fun and games and still do something good for whole country. Is whole lot better than spend huge big pile o' cash to go overseas to take off pants. If you got to take pants off, go to bedroom and don't embarrass nobody. 

You got to use head little bit to do "value added" business. Could be whole new "Value Added Olympics" if you play cards right. Ha ha, you laugh. What does old pig farmer know about "value added" anyway? You be surprised what pig farmer knows. Some hot shot economist make up new name for how to do better business, but pig farmer already knows all about it. In depression my daddy take load of oats to grain elevator. Elevator guy says he give him ten cents a bushel - tops. Daddy says no - four-fifty a bushel.  Elevator guy laughs at him - tell him he's nuts. Daddy takes load home and drives to pig barn. Shows oats to pigs. He tells them is top grade - four-fifty a bushel. Hoy Boys, pigs are so happy they squeal like pigs! Daddy makes nice chop and feed whole business to them. After, he butchers pigs and makes nice ham sausage. He sells whole works for good price and never go back to elevator guy again. Daddy find out he can stay home, look after family if he do value added business and everything hunky dory.

Now you see - is not so hard to figure out how to have lots o' fun and games and still do good for people. You save lots o' money too. Instead of go to fancy gym for exercise, you go to pig farm - carry slop pails to trough - get strong right quick. If you want to learn run fast, take nice stroll in my brother Stachu's cow pasture. Bull is always there, ready to give you good work out. Maybe you want to think about that little bit. Hoy boys - you never believe I even got good job for think about things. Just hitch up horses to set of harrows and go clean up summer fallow on back quarter. While you're at it you could talk about whole Olympic business to wrong end of horse. Would be just like having meeting with board of directors. You feel right at home. Best part is you get free room and board and ten bucks a day.

Holy Moley! I bet you five rubles you never think of such a thing! Listen, no need to say thanks. I good Canadian. I glad to help out anytime. You should drop by sometime. We could sit on my balcony and have nice chat about more ideas. I still got good supply of ham sausage and my boy live close by. He always got some extra beer. Would be good visit.

Your Pal,

Nestor Kropatnik PF (Retire)

Nestor's Mailbag - Education (special)

I've often had a thing about people who need special education. It seems that the people in charge of education have the idea that one must learn things only in a certain way. If you can't do that - too bad! Well, that's not how it is. I have the biggest respect for people like my granddaughter Morgan Epp who is a blind/deaf Intervenor. or my sister's neice who is a speech therapist, who might advise these administrative cowboys exactly where it's at. Well -enough said. Let Nestor speak for himself:

Education Minister

Dear Ed;

It's me, Nestor. Ho, ho, I bet you five rubles you never think you gonna get letter from old Nestor! Maybe you figure out I far too busy being CEO of pig farm to write to busy CEO of teachers. But I got big surprise for you. Now I retire, I got time to give you hand with big mess you make with special education. Don't worry, it's free - no red tape attached.

Hoy, boys! You got nose so deep in fancy shmansy psychology books is no wonder left hand don't know where is right hand. You don't need all that. Everything you need is already in farm chores. You just got to know how to use it. Don't forget. Everybody got special needs. Everybody need special education - even teachers, maybe even Education Minister. Let me tell you little story. You gonna get huge big surprise.   

Actually I little bit nervous telling special education secrets to big boss of teachers. Maybe I gonna have to sit in corner with dunce cap - again. But by now I too old for that. Don't worry, I didn't forget about that business. Wouldn't have been such a big stink if snot-nose little brother don't have such a big mouth. But no, he gotta go home and tell grand daddy about bunyak big brother Nestor is dunce at school. Sometimes little brothers make lots o' trouble. Hoy boys - that Stashu - give me huge big pain sometimes.

Grand daddy sit in big chair, look in my eye and curl up trigger finger to say 'come here, little bunyak'. I hang head like sad little dog and wait for big lecture in mother tongue. I not disappointed. Grand daddy tells me Kropatniks never sit in corner like dunces. How come I decide to change rules? I tell him I don't decide, teacher decide. How come, he wants to know. I tell him I forget poem I supposed to recite.

"Poem - poem?" grand daddy yell at me. Holy Moley! Now I gonna get it for sure! That Stashu - he gonna pay huge big price for shoot off mouth, for sure!

All of a sudden grand daddy get big sneaky grin on old face and says "I like poems! You stand up straight and I gonna tell you one".

I bet you five rubles I jump a mile high. Maybe I not gonna get it after all. Grand daddy tells me long poem in mother tongue. He knows whole thing off by heart. Is all about little willow who grows up to be strong big switch for dusting off seat of pants from boys who sit in dunce's stool. Whole time grand daddy is still smiling like sneaky old fox and I look around to spot willow switch.

Grand daddy ask me if I like poem. What I gonna say - no? "Oh yes, grand daddy - is very nice poem".

Now he want to know do I want to learn it. "Of course", I tell him. He says he got perfect way to learn poem so I never forget. Do I want to see? "Of course grand daddy". Hoy boys, I can't believe maybe this time is no willow switch.

Grand daddy takes me out to granary. He gives me huge big grain scoop and opens sack for me to fill. Every time I dig in to grain we say a line of poem together. Every time I empty scoop in sack we say another line. Scoop - say a line. Dump - say a line - like that. Forty bushels later we come to last verse.

Grand daddy ask if I know poem now. Hoy, boys, all I know is how heavy is forty bushels oats. I tell him no.

"Too bad", says grand daddy. "We start again". He dumps out whole forty bags of oats.

When he hears me groan, grand daddy says, "Don't be crybaby. At least I don't make you put oats in one grain at a time. This time you pay attention. Now shaddap and say out loud".

Hoy boys, you bet your big boots I pay attention! I take every word in my brain and stick him on like fly paper. When we finish I got to recite poem again. We get to verse seventeen and grand daddy dumps out one bushel bag.

"Why you do that?" I complain.

He says, "Two wrong words. Says verse again".

I say verse again and he says, "Okay, fill him up".

Same thing happen in verse twenty-two, and thirty, and thirty-eight. At least I don't have to dump out whole forty bushels. Next time I recite poem I get everything right. Now maybe I can go in house and take it easy.

Grand daddy have other idea. He makes me get book where is my poem. When he sees poem he laughs and says, "This is sissy pants poem - only four verses."

We hitch up team to wagon and I get to load up oats for hammermill to making chop. Holy Moley - eighty pounds a bag - forty bags - my back is broke - arms too! Grand daddy says, "You look little bit tire. You rest and read poem to me on way to mill". I tell him thank you.

Only problem is poem is in English and grand daddy don't understand so I got to say in mother tongue. Now he says it sounds good but don't rhyme. It's got to rhyme or is no poem. I start to think maybe would be better to dust off seat of pants with willow switch and forget about stupid poem. But I smart enough to keep trap shut or else I still got to learn poem and get pants dusted off as bonus for complaining.

We dump out everything at mill and I get grain scoop again. Scoop up grain and say a line. Dump in hopper and say a line. By time we finish I can say in English and in mother tongue - even backwards if I want. On way home grand daddy says to me, "Thank you for big help to make chop and for teaching me nice poem. Today we had special education. You learn two poems in two languages at same time as learn how to make chop for pigs - just like professional pig farmer. I learn small sissy pants poem to say in English. When I tell to grandma, she gonna think I Leo Tolstoi. That's special".

Next day I go to school and say poem just like that. Teacher very happy - tell me I do perfect. Now go sit down. I say no - I not finished yet. I say also in mother tongue - even make it rhyme. Teacher says I must be bilingual. Now he thinks I smart kid after all. After that I never sit in corner with dunce cap again.

Now you see - that's not so hard. You don't need whole bunch o' huge big words to make lessons easy for students. They don't pay attention anyway. You do that and all you get is bored kids who grow up and know nothing. No, no. You got to figure out ways for students to pay attention so they learn something from teacher and teacher learn something from student. That way everybody feels good.

Listen, you should drop by for visit sometime when you not busy with nose in psychology books. We could sit on my balcony and have some nice ham sausage. My boy lives close by and he always got couple extra beers. I could give you more ideas about special education. Maybe you could bring bunch o' special education teachers to pig farm for lesson about special education. My daughter Olga is CEO of pig farm now I retire, but she knows poem about little willow switch as good as me and grand daddy. She be very happy to give special education to teachers.

Your pal,

Nestor Kropatnik PF (Retire)     

Nestor's Mailbag - Red Tape Department

Health Canada

Red Tape Department

Dear Red;

It's me, Nestor! Hoy boys, I bet my big boots you gonna be suprise to hear from me! Sorry to disturb you when you so busy trying to find cure for red tape worm epidemic. I know, I know, is huge big problem - world wide pandemic. I don't blame you for worry 'bout it. You getting nowhere fast and red tape worm getting everywhere even faster. Too much red tape!

I never thought about it 'til other day when I watch news on the TV. I line up my big chair and click on TV zapper. Holy Moley! I jump a mile high. Here is classy lady friend of mine getting off a big airplane - right there on TV! She and other nurses and doctors just arriving back from Sri Lanka. They go there to do very nice mission helping people who need it after huge big disaster. Look at that! They got lots of work right here, but when they hear about sick people who need help right away, they drop everything and go, just like that - no red tape.  Maybe you never heard 'bout such a thing in Ottawa before.

They get to Sri Lanka, roll up sleeves and say, "okay let's go! Take us to place where biggest need is."

Army says, "Shaddup and stay in stinky hot barracks. We got war business to do - no time for humanitarian aid. You want something, you talk to government."

So doctors and nurses complain to government. They come all this way for people who need medicine and treatment in a hurry, but army says no way José. Doctors and nurses dig heels in. They still want to know when they can get a move on. 

Government says, "First you need approval from Red Tape department. Fill out forms and wait."

Hoys Boys, what a mess! They even got Red Tape Department in Sri Lanka! I thought it was only available in Ottawa. Doctors and nurses ask for appointment with Minister of Red Tape to clear up business so people don't got to suffer no more. Guy tells them, "Sorry, Minister is out. Come back tomorrow maybe."

Pretty soon people get a little bit grouchy and nobody gets help because Minister is still out. They say, "Where is Minister?"

Guy says, "Out".

People say, "We know he's out. Where is out?"

Guy says, "Out to lunch."

Hoy boys, he got that right! It's just like in Ottawa - same disease. Here you got huge big bunch o' people got no food, got no clean water, got no houses, lost families, lost everything. Same time you got lots o' people like my friend fly half way 'round world to help. Lots o' people send money, clothes, medicine, and equipment. Where does everything go? Goes to Red Tape shipping and receiving, of course. Now nobody can get it 'cause Red Tape Minister is out to lunch. You see what I mean? Red tape worm is huge big problem.

Let me give you little bit friendly advice. Don't worry, it's free - no red tape attached. Ha ha, that's just a little joke. But I got sure cure for red tape worm from my grand daddy. I hear you ask what does old retired pig farmer know about cure for anything, never mind such a giant big disease. Ho, ho, I bet you five rubles you gonna get huge big surprise when you find out what old retired pig farmer knows! I gonna tell you right now. He knows cure for red tape worm is right there on pig farm. See, I told you you gonna be surprise.

In old country my grand daddy find out when spunky young boy pig wants to have smoochy date with nice fancy lady pig, he got to look good - make big impression. So wise guy grand daddy, he takes straight razor and gives him nice fancy shave, professional, just like in barbershop. Pretty soon hot shot boy pig sees he is handsome dude - looks like a million bucks. He's happy to go call on fine lady pig. But that is different story. I not gonna tell you in case kids listening. I gonna tell you 'bout special treatment for all kinds problems.

Grand daddy he got brand new idea for stiff pig bristles. He don't waste nothing - uses them to make cure for poachers catching rabbits on his land. He takes old muzzleloader, a little bit black powder, a big ball of stiff pig bristles, sneaks up on poacher, pulls trigger and gives him injection in seat of pants, right through trap door of red flannel gotchies. Poacher yells and takes off, howling like wolf who back into grouchy porcupine. No, no, this is not end of story. Just wait. I gonna tell you whole business.

Next day grandma sets table for supper, everybody sits down except my daddy. Grandma wants to know why he don't want to sit down to eat like everybody else. Daddy says he not hungry. Besides, he's too busy - got big responsibility to do lots o' chores, and runs out of house. Grandma thinks that maybe her boy got sunstroke from heat, he acting so funny. This is first time she see him want to work instead of eat. He even got long coat on, down over seat of pants.

Even next morning grandma says my daddy gotta sit down and eat breakfast. Daddy tells her he still got no time - got to hurry for school. All of a sudden he want to study hard to be good student. How 'bout that! Never happen before. Grand daddy just strokes his big handlebar moustache and smiles. He tells grandma don't worry. The boy just had immunization against poaching disease. Right now is little bit tender in immunization site, but only takes three weeks for puss and poison to push out pig bristles and then he can sit down again. Grandma says must be good medicine to make boy change his ways so much.

  Hoys boys! Is a long story my grand daddy told me. He winks at me and says it looks like pig bristles pretty good medicine for cure laziness disease too. I ask him how it works.

"Oh," says grand daddy, "like magic. Pig bristles go right into skin. Only way out is for disease in body to push out everything. Then its too late - disease falls out too. In three weeks everything comes out and everything hunky dory. Hoy Boys, makes huge big mess in trap door of gotchies!" he laughs.

So you see what you learn from old pig farmer. Right there under your nose is perfect medicine to cure lots o' things. You don't need fancy shmansy little pills or needle in arm. All you need is old muzzleloader and little bit black powder and grand daddy's pig bristle medicine. Think about it. Its all natural, organic, has short-term side effects and is non-addictive. Best of all it’s a renewable resource so you could get it anytime. I bet you five rubles you give injection to all government people, you get rid of poaching disease - no more fingers in piggy bank. Same time you clean up lazy disease so nobody got no more time for red tape. Look at that! In one shot you fix everything in whole red tape department. Everything run smooth just like wagon wheel with Black Beauty axle grease. You don’t even need booster shot. You just have to say you gonna give booster shot. All of a sudden original medicine starts to work again, just like magic.

You see - that was easy. You should drop by sometime. We could sit on my balcony and have nice visit. I got nice fresh ham sausage and my boy, he live close by. He always got couple extra beers. Maybe you could even use couple more ideas like maybe next time you give money and supplies to Auditor General Sheila Fraser. She gonna make sure where money goes.

Your pal,

Nestor Kropatnik PF (Retired)

Nestor's Mailbag - Dear Pope

Dear Pope

Dear Pope;

It's me, Nestor. Hoy Boy! I bet you get lots o’ letters! You such a busy guy. I feel bad make you read 'nother one. So don't have no hard feelings for short letter. I not getting even for you not show up at my pig farm for snack after work when you was close by. Aha - maybe you forgot about that already or maybe was just mix up. We make such a nice bonfire and lots o’ munchies. Everybody wait 'til you concert over. We even save some beer and sausage for you. You miss such a good time. Just what you need to relax after day of heavy-duty speeches and waving to people. When you not show up, fire go out and we all go to asleep. Too much Di Boje I guess.

Oh now you remember! That's right, we invite you to little party just for you to have little bit good time. Everybody needs that once in a while. Hey, I seen you on the TV and looks like you could use a little bit fun now and then. You should try it.

Well I know priests not supposed to fool around and do hanky panky. But you not priest no more anyways. You are Pope - the boss – the CEO! You call the shots. What could hurt for you to go out and have little bit fun once in a while? I don't mean you got to do hanky panky. Just go do little jiggy jig dance listen to nice music and have good time. But I maybe you got a hard time to get a date. You notice that?

But let me give you a little bit advice, just between friends. Don’t worry, it’s free – no red tape attached. It don't need to go no further. You should wear pants more. Maybe even suit and tie would be nice. They got on sale in catalogue. You all the time put on fancy-shmansy nightshirts when you go out. They don't do a thing for you. You keep wearing them and ladies might get wrong idea. And that nightcap you insist to put on you head, what's that about? You should get nice Fedora. Then you look sharp, like zoot –suiter. What does bald guy need a nightcap for anyway? Well, that’s my advice to you. I know you didn't ask but what the hay. It's least I can do. 

But I not writing just to make fashion statement, in case you was wondering. It’s just little bit extra advice for you. No, no, real reason I write is to ask you question been bothering me. Maybe you don't know answer right away, but you got connections - you could find out and let me know. What I was wondering was if they got smoking section in heaven. I bet you get that a lot so maybe you already know answer and don't have to ask nobody.

It never even cross my mind before, but everybody keep nagging about it. Smoking no good for you they say. ‘Daddy,’ says Olga, ‘you stop that crummy habit – is bad for you.’ Even missus keeps nagging, ‘Phoo! That stinks!’ What I gonna do? I been smoking now for sixty years and people say if I keep it up I maybe gonna get sick so I should stop. I know they mean well but why they not tell me that sixty years ago?

They even got all kinds new smoking facts - scientific, they say. Even government is in on act. They say second hand smoke is bad for people and environment. So they ban smoking in public places. Well, you know me. I don't want to make trouble for nobody, so I don't smoke in public places no more. I don't even like to smoke in places where I going to be my own self. Trouble is, I still like to smoke. So you see my problem.

Well, if they got a smoking section in heaven, I'd sure like to go there. Some of my buddies is there already and I like to visit with them, you know, maybe have some sausage and a beer - and a smoke. But I not want to start off on wrong foot and smoke where I not supposed to. It wouldn't be right. So if they got no smoking section I got to decide am I going to quit like everybody is nagging me about or go stay in that other place you talk about sometimes, just for smoke. Hoy boys, is a heavy load to carry making huge big decisions. Maybe next time you come by you can tell me.

Now, you see - we had such a nice chat and you wasn't even here. Imagine how much fun you have if you drop by for visit. You like it here. You feel right at home. We got nice balcony, just like your place – well maybe not so fancy, but pretty cozy. You could go out there same as in your palace and wave to neighbors across the courtyard, no problem.

I even got old zoot suit you could wear - dark blue - with pin stripes - and a vest too. Real classy. Hoy boy! I bet you turn lots of ladies' heads in that suit. No really, you should come. You don't even got to phone. We always got extra sausage in freezer. And my boy he live close by. He always got a few extra beers around. We could have blast.

Your pal,

Nestor Kropatnik PF (Retired)

   

Nestor's Mailbag - Dear Canada

Well, it's Canada Day, and I couldn't help but remember Nestor's embarrassement about his effort to show his allegiance. So I thought I'd share it with you today. Here it is:

Dear Canada

Dear Canada;

It’s me, Nestor! Hoys Boys, I so embarrass early first thing in morning I don’t know should I sit down, stand up, or hide face in corner. Sun is just peeking up from under sleeping blanket when I take my coffee and little bit ham sausage on balcony for think about what to do today. Well I know I not going to do things no more – I retire – but is old habit I pick up and hard to break. Even still is nice to plan for do nothing whole day. Besides, is Canada day today. Whole country having birthday party.

Now I look up from comfy balcony chair – just like pope – and look across courtyard at other buildings. Holy Moley, I bet my big boots I jump a mile high! Lots o’ people got big Canadian flag in windows and draped over balcony – just like huge big birthday card. Hoy Boys! What a good idea! How come I never think of that? I gotta admit, sometimes city slickers not so dumb after all.

All of a sudden I get great idea myself. Maybe I got no flag so I gonna make one for sure! Quiet as a little mouse I sneak in bedroom where missus still sleeping. She so cute, purr like tiny little kitten on pillow. I find brand new pair red wool gotchies and brand new white bed sheet and tippee toe out so wife not wake up. I know I got no business in sewing basket, but I look anyway for safety pins and take whole shebang to balcony. Hoy Boys – is hard job to figure out how to make maple leaf from pair o’ gotchies. Is one part short until I remember trap door. Look at that. Trap door is good for lots o’ things. By time I all finished, tongue is all twisted from concentrating, fingers full o’ holes from safety pins, but whole thing looks pretty good, I figure out. Not so bad for old pig farmer.

Holy Moley, if I not still on hands and knees, I bet you for sure I be fall down right away quick. Right behind me cute little purring kitten turn into ferocious big tiger – roar like lion – in mother tongue! Missus lets out string o’ words, some I never even know what mean. What I think I doing showing underwear to neighbors on balcony? What people going to think of bunyak pig farmer? They gonna laugh us right out of neighborhood! Hoy Boys, I so shocked I don’t know what to say for minute. I never thought o’ that.

Finally I get tongue back and I say, ”Hey listen sweetie, calm down. I make birthday card for Canada.” Hoy Boys, big mistake! She give me ‘nother blast.

Now I got to dig heels in little bit. I tell her, “Listen here sweetie, I CEO of balcony. If I wanna say ‘Happy Birthday Canada’, I gonna do it”.

Missus shoots right back. “Maybe you CEO, but don’t forget who is Chairman of Board. Now shaddap and give me gotchies”.  

Just then our Olga – she now CEO of pig farm since I retire, walks in door and wonders what is all squawking about. Missus tells her I make jackass of self and show her what I make. She says she gonna throw in Dumpster.

Daughter says, “no, no mommy, don’t throw away! Is very important to say ‘Happy Birthday Canada’. Look, I brought present”! She open big Eaton’s shopping bag and haul out huge big flag bought from store. Holy Moley I get such a big surprise! Is beautiful flag.

Missus like it too. She says, “here Mr. CEO, go hang up proper birthday card – and do it straight”.

Daughter tells mommy, “Give me daddy’s flag. I got good place for it. I hang it up in barn. Pigs will be so happy, they gonna squeal like pigs – maybe even sing ‘Oh Canada’. They see daddy’s gotchies, then they know who is Chairman of Board in barn. See, everything is hunky dory”.

Look at that! I don’t know how it happened. Missus comes and gives me little squeeze. She says I cutest little bunyak. Daughter says she gotta go show flag to pigs in barn.

Let me give you little bit friendly advice. Don’t worry, it’s free – no red tape attached. When it comes to ladies, just shaddap and do what they say. Somehow by magic, everything work out – every time.

You should drop by sometime. We could have some sausage and maybe I ask my boy who live close by if he got some extra beer. We could have nice visit. Just don’t ask for lady advice.            

Your pal,

Nestor Kropatnik PF (Retire)