RETURN TO ODDS N' ENDS PAGE | E-MAIL ME
UNCLE TED AND RUSTY THE DOG
When
I was a kid, we lived with my Uncle Ted on a dairy farm in the lush marshlands
of central Minnesota. How we got to live on Teds farm is an unlikely story
in and of itself, but worthy of a tangent. You see, my Dad at the time (who
interestingly was not a farmer but worked at a refrigerator plant) was a largely
unsuccessful poker player, meaning that we didnt own a home but rented
vacant farmhouses from local farmers with foreign sounding names. Normally we
stayed at each home an average of eighteen months before back rent caught up
to us and we were forced once again to move. Fortunately, we never moved more
than three miles in any direction so I didnt have to change schools, but
Im sure I was traumatized anyway (at least, my Mom says I was.)
In any case, at one point we ended up at my Uncle Teds house which, from
my perspective at the time, was a veritable mansion. It had a real working indoor
toilet (little things meant a lot back then) and other luxuries like heat and
running water. Located in the midst of a virtual oasis of apple trees and acres
of grassy, snake-infested lawn, it was way cool.
Unlike most farmers we rented from, this was Teds only farmhouse
and so he lived with us too. This also was way cool, as Ted (my Grandmas
brother) was a lot of fun (in a spooky sort of way.) When I first met him about
thirty five years ago, he looked to be about seventy years old. Today, he looks
about seventy-five (its a genetic thingtrust me.) He was also uniquely
funny for a farmer (which are not normally thought of as funny people) if you
consider being chased by a man waving the severed head of a recently butchered
pig to be funny. He did other funny things too, all of which we found amusing
and frequently frightening.
One day my brother Bruce and I hit upon a way to amuse Uncle Ted. Bruce had
a bizarre penchant for digging around the yard (often in the effort to set traps
for our vicious dog, Duchess) and on one lucky occasion he stumbled upon the
skeletal remains of Uncle Teds deceased bird dog Rusty (dead pets were
usually wrapped in a blanket and buried behind the chicken coop back then, which
explains why one had to be careful about where one dug.) I dont remember
how Rusty died; either he was found one morning curled up dead under the porch
or was run over by a tractor. It doesnt really matter, though, as that
was how all farm pets met their demise. It was just the "way of things,"
Uncle Ted mysteriously explained.
Anyway, Bruce thought it would be neat to wire the skeletal remains of Rusty
back together and set it on the porch so Ted could see it when he came home
that night. Surely he couldnt help but be amused by the spectacle of his
dead pet standing on the porch pining for its masters return, Bruce and
I reasoned, and so we got to work with chicken wire and clothes hangers putting
Rusty back together again. It took some effort, but we finally got all the parts
in some reasonable order. Bruce even added a nice touch by laying the rotted
collar with Rustys name etched into it around the neck. I always thought
he had the soul of a poet.
What we didnt know was that Ted had 1.) poor night vision, 2.) an innate
fear of cadavers, and 3.) a weak heart. It proved to be an unfortunate combination.
Uncle Ted came back from the hospital a wiser man, however. Never again did
he chase us with severed animal parts. In fact, the experience seemed to take
some of the "spark" out of the old man, who from then on he just sat
quietly in his room murmuring to himself, demonstrating once again the time-tried
adage that one shouldnt play with dead things.
TOP
| ODDS N' ENDS PAGE | HOME