AH, HOOTIE, YOU'RE A GOOD MAN--ER, OWL

Well, folks, life hasn't been too easy around the old homestead this past week and a half. The old body is beginning to show its' age a little bit. The doctors are working on it, but they haven't found it yet. But I have. I'm waiting for the doctor to give me a call now so I can tell him where the pain is coming from and tell him to schedule me to visit the correct specialist. The ct scan showed nothing because they looked in the wrong place, I think. Once they home in on the right area I think we'll know the problem and can solve it pretty quickly. Hell of a thing to happen on my birthday, but life goes on and so will I. A little cut and snip and we'll be ok again.

In the meantime, I've fallen behind on my project. And am going to fall farther behind for a short while. In the meantime, old Hootie has brought up one more of my older poems for your pleasure. This a favorite of mine. That said, here is


COUNTRY BOY


They come back each year about this time,
Quacking and swimming and floating and flying.
"The ducks are back," he shouts to me
And runs to the bog, so young and free.

I won't allow hunting on this piece of land,
'Cause we all like the ducks, so brassy and grand.
They're loud and messy, hungry and wild.
And really treat for this handsome young child.

He runs and hollers, "Get back in the creek,"
Not knowing they'll all be gone in a week.
Except for the four who stay here year round,
There's Wingy and Sloopy and Crip and Bound.

He named all four two years ago
While nursing his 'hurt', a broken toe.
He'd sit in his chair and feed the birds,
And talk to them in his special words.

He's only seven, this special boy
And to his PaPa he is really a joy.
He lives in the city but when on my land,
He's a country boy, this great little man.



I guess it is one of my favorites because everyone assumed that it was real. Not so. The only real thing about it is that I won't allow hunting on my property, other than that it is made up of pure air. But I can picture the land, the bog, the ducks cavorting and the noise. Nice to have an active imagination. I can see whether there is light or not, I just have to look back into my mind and draw up pictures that are pleasing. And this one is.