She had lined up old bottles behind the chicken coop on grey boards so old they were pock marked by mildew and holes where the knots had fallen through. The bottles were molted and natted -faded greens, blues, amber- the colors and shapes she favored. She thought they added a nice decorative touch to the outside of the coop.
That coop! She thought she might stop keeping those birds altogether, although they did allow her some pin money in eggs and meat. No matter how often she changed their hay, they still stank.
She lived out at the end of the road where no one bothered, so she was an easy target for the boys who tormented her by pissing in the bottles behind the coop. She finally realized that the stink she was smelling was coming from those old bottles! Those boys! Humph!
She had an old dog tethered out in the yard who was also fair game as far as the boys were concerned. They rode their bicycles in circles around the dog staying just far enough away to drive the poor Mange mad. He worked himself into such a frenzy that the barking almost killed him a couple of times. Luckily the boys’ attention span was short. This saved everyone who became one of their targets.
If the boys only knew that the Old Mrs would invite their companionship on occasion. She would give them each a thick slice of raisin nut bread just out of the oven slathered with butter. She was certain she could win them over.
One by one, she was able to foster a friendship until all three were amiable. Red stopped by one day by himself to help her empty the bottles and clean up the coop. Blondie helped her give Mange a bath and brush his coat into a semblance of neatness. Suave’ himself showed up unwilling to work, but happy about the nut bread.
It got to where she could expect them every Saturday when they would be free to roam the whole town and countryside on their revved up bicycles. She plied their adolescent hunger with cakes and pies and candies. But their quest for knowledge was also keen. So, she taught them all the cuss words – the real cuss words like “mother fucker” and “cunt.” But she also counseled them on how to act around girls and the real story behind sex.
Their tutelage lasted two or three years. By then they certainly had bigger fish to fry like girl friends, jobs, sports, and cars. But the Old Mrs could always count on one of them to show up just as the screen door needed fixing or a shelf hung. She was invited to special events like graduations and weddings, but she never went. Still, when she passed in her late 80’s, a couple hundred people attended her memorial. The Old Mrs
(First published 11/29/11)
