The following story is true. Due to its length I have split it into two sections. I hope you enjoy reading next month on how this tale ends. This story has been taken from the book Tales from Heritage Farm by Randall and Wenda Grabau.
Sam and the sparrow
It was a sunlit morning. The sky was blue. I was energized by the freshness of this vibrant, new, spring day. It would have been nearly perfect, except for the mound of dishes staring back at me from inside my sink. “Oh, well, it could be worse,” I told myself, and I dove right into the chore before me.
I could hear my husband’s tractor off in the distance. He was making the soil ready for the seed and the bountiful harvest for which we hoped. “How come he gets to have all the fun?” I mused.
Clang, crash, went the squeaky clean pots and pans. This rhythm section from my kitchen was interrupted by a knock at my door.
It was Grandpa and my niece, Tonya. “Tonya wants to know if Bretta can come out and play,” said Grandpa.
The squeal coming from upstairs told me that my little four-year-old daughter was all for the idea. Thump, thump, thump… kerplunk! She came rumbling down the steps and gave a final leap off of the bottom one. Bretta burst through the doorway, and both she and Tonya were off outside, running around the farm.
Grandpa, as we all called him, was the girls’ grandpa and my father-in-law. “Well, I guess that’s that,” he said. “I’ll be back for Tonya in a couple of hours.”
“Thanks, Grandpa,” I replied. “They’ll have a great time. See you later.” I went dutifully back to my work.
Tonya was a six-year-old city girl, so the farm held a special charm for her. She roamed the yards with Bretta looking at the blossoming orchard and the violets and dandelions peeking through the green grass. They visited the brooder house to pet some of the peeping baby chicks. Then, stepping up on the wooden fence, the girls gazed out at the pasture dotted with my husband’s black and white Holstein cows.
Out of the corner of her eye, Tonya saw our German Shepherd, Sam, trotting along. He came by just to say hello. Petting Sam for a little while was fun. He enjoyed it, too. But soon, off he went on his own quest to liven up his day.
A short while had passed when little Bretta came bounding into the kitchen breathlessly. “Mommy, Mommy, Sam has a bird in his mouth!”
Now, I knew for an historical fact that Sam took peculiar delight in chasing chickens. “Do you mean he’s got a chicken in his mouth?” I questioned.
“No, Mommy, Sam has a bird in his mouth,” she answered.
This story is to be continued.
WHAT IS SAM GOING TO DO WITH THE BIRD? WILL MOM REALLY BE ABLE TO HELP THE BIRD IN TIME? CHECK IN ON NEXT MONTH’S STORY TO FIND OUT WHAT WILL HAPPEN.