It is time for yet another post from Linda Hill’s Stream of Consciousness Saturday (SoCS).
Your Friday prompt for Stream of Consciousness Saturday is “rib.” Use it as a word, or find a word with “rib”in it. As always, use any way you’d like. Enjoy!
THIS POST MAY NOT BE SUITABLE FOR THE SQUEAMISH OR ANTI-GUN FOLKS. IT IS HOWEVER AN ACCURATE PORTRAYAL OF MY MOTHER’S LIFE ON THE FARM.
My mom was a bit of a badass, but when she was growing up, she was even more so.
She grew up on a farm so chores were a daily part of life.
They grew corn to feed the cows and the pigs — we called it field corn. It was stored in a corn crib.
The corn crib was a rough-hewn building with slats spaced apart so the air could get to the corn and allow it to dry. As you can imagine, a building with such openings allows more than just air to get inside. It also made it easy access for the rats!
Mom always told the story of the year the rats were so bad, they had to take drastic measures.
Mom, her three brothers and two sisters would all take position seated around the corn crib with a .22 caliber rifle while my grandfather and the dog rustled the rats out. Remember, these were big well-fed farm rats.
All was going as planned until one of the rats managed to scurry toward my mom and straight up her pants leg.
This is when the dog (I wish I could remember his name) took off toward mom, grabbed the rat by the hind quarters, and pulled it out of mom’s pant leg.
The rats lost the battle of the corn crib that day.
Disclaimer: I am not a fan of guns although I grew up around them. It would take a lot for me to kill any animal — even a rat.
If you would like to join in the SoCS fun, amble on over to Linda’s blog for the rules. Thanks as always, Linda!