Chapter 6

"Some days you get corn on the cob.

Some days you get used corn.

Other days you get the cob."

Old Man with a Pen.

Lucy (AKA Wicked stepmother) decided ... after a couple three years of saying "NO!!" to myself and Grace ... that Charlieb need a faithful companion and forced Daddy to buy a puppy. She was magnanimous. After first schooling Pop about HER preferences in dogs, she allowed Daddy the privilege of choice.

She soon learned of her mistake.

The description of HER ideal dog included, small, fuzzy ... if not downright hairy, classy and friendly ... like a toy poodle ... or a pug.

Daddy hated what he called 'slipper dogs'. A slipper dog is small, fuzzy ... if not downright hairy, classy and friendly ... and they yap ... a lot. Daddy calls them slipper dogs, not because no slipper is safe from sharp and pointy teeth, no ... a slipper dog is one you can kick in the ass so hard you can wear it like a slipper.

Therefore, small, fuzzy ... if not downright hairy, classy and friendly was not on the list when we drove to Lansing one fine Saturday morning. Lucile (AKA Wicked stepmother) stayed home ... Chuck might take a chill.

Instead of the straight shot south on US-27, we took Dewitt Road to Price and the corner of Price and Airport Road.

He wanted to look at 'The Estate' before he decided on a dog.

Grandmother owned acreage south of town ... it wasn't big ... but it was mostly wild grassland dotted with a string of small glacial ponds and a seven acre wood at the very back. 38 acres was on the south side of Price Road and 1.8 acres was on the north.

The one point eight was lined with a row of migrant workers housing. Since the shacks were in the absolute minimum shelter range ... and brought in enough for Grannie to keep up with the taxes, they had never been torn down as an eyesore.

The property was mostly useless but Grannie had a neighbor who leased a ten acre field in front of the seven acre wood ... he scrapped it level and picked up glacial rocks, plowed it and picked up glacial rocks, disked it and picked up glacial rocks, harrowed it and picked up glacial rocks.

Then he planted wheat. He did all the work and Grannie got one third of the harvest ... and a huge pile of glacial rocks. Remember the rocks ... the rocks are important ... later.

As we were almost to the corner of Price and Airport a covey of quail flew in from the north, six ducks took off from one little pond and settled in the next and a ring-necked pheasant chased a pair of hens across the road in front of us ... serendipity.

Daddy began thinking of colorful, crisp Autumn days at Grams farm wandering in the fields behind a good bird dog.

Wandering in the Autumn fields behind a good dog means a person needs:

1. A good sturdy pair of NEW waterproof boots.

2. NEW rubberized or oiled canvas pants.

3. Several NEW flannel shirts in subdued colors.

4. NEW Suspenders to hold up the pants

5. A NEW weather resistant canvas jacket with leather patches on the elbows.

6. An OLD pipe and tobacco to look manly while telling hunting stories.

7. A NEW Fedora hunting hat with a stunning hat band and pheasant tail feather.

8. Several NEW Farmer handkerchiefs to wipe the sweat off the brow.

9. A well worn four-wheel drive pick up in excellent running order.

10. A NEW hunting bag for the kill.

11. A NEW hunting knife with sheath.

12. A NEW wallet with a chain for the license.

13. NEW Wool sox.

14. A NEW Shotgun ... either side by side or over and under.

Daddy had a brilliant idea, "Let's go see Mr. Dunsmore."

Mr. Dunsmore was the farmer who leased the ten acre field in front of the seven acre wood. Mr Dunsmore had boys ... boys who spent most of the spring plowing picking up glacial rocks and tossing them in a tractor pulled wagon ... boys who were in high school ... with Grace and me. Except ... the youngest was the normal age for a freshman... 15 ... and Grace and I were 12.

So ... while Daddy and Mr. Dunsmore were sitting in the spotless kitchen conferring over a quart of local 'shine ... Grace and I were sitting on the back porch steps watching the Dunsmore boys watch Grace.

"David?" asked Don.

I looked up.

"You like cars?"

I nodded. It's 1954 ... cars are every boys dream. A car is the ticket to the open road ... and pussy.

"Come see."

We walked over to a huge shed ... probably an equipment shed but with garage doors and Genie openers ... surely the first electric garage doors in the state. Don pushed a button and a door clattered open. There was HIS car ... a black 1932 Ford three window coupe with a 1936 Ford V8 ... Edelbrock heads and manifold with three Stromberg 97 two barrel carburetors. Three Deuces.