Sunday, May 17, 2015


Woke up that way.  The dog wouldn’t even associate with me. Depressing.

Saw a respected individual drag home around three-thirty a.m. this morning, amidst rain and lightening. The person circled the drive of their home, came back out and sped off into the night.

Worse still, as the car disappeared into the distance the Baker Street Dozen popped out of barr ditches on both sides of the road and coo-ed like doves, barked like dogs and had their hissy fits of noise of animals.

What the hell they were doing out on a night like last night, pouring rain, and thunderstorms only the man upstairs knows. Maybe the kids know, but who are they telling, and where had they been? Doing what?

Then again, what was I doing up at that hour for the second day in a row?

The calves made the night. Not happily, to be sure. But endured and looking grumpy. I was thinking of giving them an extra ration, but, come on, I’d have them at my back door at all hours telling me of their woes.

No. Regular feeding hours.

Dog, also.

I found the P/U truck that ripped off the near neighbors broken down mower cash. Oddly enough it was parked next door to near neighbors place and the excuse was, moving in, the P/U owner was ‘just getting rid of the trash’.

Loved that.

The man knew what he was doing. I’m not too sure what he did with the cash, but it would be neat if he sold it back to near neighbor; one way or the other it will enter the systems of users here in the village.

Excuse me while I laugh. It is funny.


From the reaches,

Ten Whiskey

About tenwhiskey

User tenwhiskey is also the author of this blog. He currently lives in small town Kansas in a semi-retired condition. His kids are married and gone (thank you). An empty nester. Divorced. Very happy with life as it is. Ten Mile maintains a personal blog here, writing of events as they appear to him; commentary, and opinions abound. He deviates into fiction as the mood strikes and creates flash fiction stories and short stories. He will not warn the reader when he drifts from fact to fiction. He feels adults are, generally, smart enough to figure out which is which. He does, however, attempt to make his fiction sound as true to life as possible. You have been warned. He, as time permits, writes and occasionally sells writing. More often than not he gives it away to various non-paying publishers of Ether Magazines, forums or for entertainment on a wall for in need of a hand friends. He likes candy, pies and a certain amount of strife. In the matter of strife - in his yourth on the farm, he became embroiled in a slinging fight. The fight involved lath as a launcher, fresh cow patties as ammo and it was a six way free for all. A little mud only adds (Umm?) a certain taste to life.
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