Slim Randles' Home Country
From chicken to buzzards
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The evening was
one of those that come back to you time after time, year after long
year. It comes back and whispers of how good life can be when you're
well fed, enjoying life, and a good friend shares the front porch
with you on a summer's evening.
It was that way with Doc and Steve the other night. Doc thought he
might have to do a scientific paper on the soporific effects of ice
tea, fried chicken and corn on the cob. As long as it didn't take
So when this huge meal had been bullsnaked down, the
two grinning friends came out to the porch to watch the sun go down
behind the trees along Lewis Creek. The air had that orange and
russet glow, and the breeze, that little one that caresses the neck,
came slowly down from the hills and made their shirt collars wiggle
ever so slightly.
It was like taking a dry bath in paradise.
Doc sidled up to one of the porch posts and gently tested it to
see if it could hold the extra weight he was carrying with that
meal. It stood fine, so he leaned against it seriously and looked
out on the evening's warmth.
Steve, who had enjoyed having a fine meal that someone else
cooked for a change, leaned against the post on the other side of
And then they just stood quietly, watching the day make beautiful
skies as it ended.
[to top of second
The shadow on the ground foretold the presence of the circling
bird. Doc and Steve paid no attention at first. Then a few minutes
later, it was joined by two more circling birds over Doc's house.
"Buzzards," Steve mumbled.
"Yep," said Doc.
They circled some more.
"I think one of us should move a little ..." said Doc.
"Well ... to let them know ... you know."
Steve sighed, then glanced over at Doc. "Flip you for it."
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