Fifty Acres and a Poodle by Jeanne Marie Laskas

Author:Jeanne Marie Laskas [Laskas, Jeanne Marie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-307-75455-4
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Published: 2000-08-25T04:00:00+00:00

ALEX GETS HOME A LITTLE AFTER SEVEN. HE ALWAYS looks so rushed when he comes in the door, as if his drive here were some desperate escape.

“Ugh,” he says. “I have a horrible headache.”

I give him a hug. “Okay, you’re supposed to say, ‘Hi honey, I’m home,’ and then I’m supposed to hand you a martini,” I say.

“I’ll have to work on that,” he says. “So what happened today around here?”

I tell him about the day’s briar-pushing show, and about the possum education.

“Uck,” he says.

“But it was very informative,” I say.

“I guess the dogs liked it,” he says. “Did they have possum for lunch?”

“Actually, a possum could kill a dog,” I say, as I chop carrots at the sink.

“Are we having possum for dinner?” he asks.

“No, still pork chops,” I say.

He opens the cabinet and takes out plates, begins setting the table. “But maybe you’re just telling me it’s pork,” he says, elbowing me as he passes. “But you’re trying to slip me possum.”

“Maybe!” I say, delighted that he’s come up with a new game. A disgusting varmint food game. Tomorrow night I’ll make stew and hint around about a muskrat that I saw.

I love being a farm wife. Or an almost-farm almost-wife. It feels like the most wonderful game. It feels as silly and nonsensical as when Claire and I used to play “church” in the basement. We made Communion hosts in the Easy Bake Oven, a flour and salt and water concoction we invented, and Claire pretended to be the priest. “Body of Christmas!” she would say, and I would kneel and stick out my tongue. We didn’t think it was right to say “Christ.” We thought that might be pushing it.

Alex and I sit down to our pork chops and sauerkraut and homemade applesauce. Betty curls up under the table, in a tight little circle. Marley is stretched out flat as a rug over by the door, and Bob is snoozing on the windowsill. How wonderful. How complete it all feels. Here is my family, everyone safe and sound, snug in our farmhouse.

“So,” I say to Alex, “Billy says he’s going to have to stop pushing briars soon because of the mud.”

“Did you ask him what we’re supposed to do with fifteen acres of mud?” he asks.

“Actually, I did. He said we should go up to Scenery Hill Hardware and buy, um, he said three hundred pounds of grass seed and a broadcast spreader. He says we have to get the seed on before the warm weather comes.”

“Three hundred pounds?” Alex says.

“That’s what he said.”

“And what’s a broadcast spreader?” Alex says.

“I have no idea.”

“Oh, and Billy wants to know if you mind if I go tractor shopping with him next Thursday,” I say.

“Do I mind?”

“That’s what he said.”

“I don’t get it,” he says.

“Well, I barely do,” I say. “And have you noticed all I talk about anymore is Billy?”

“Maybe you’re not watching enough TV,” he says.

“Good point.”

“What kind of tractor?” he asks.

“There’s a blue one there Billy likes,” I say.

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