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The Spring

The Spring THE SPRING SHEILA R. LAMB hat squirrel sat right in the middle of the chicken’s feed pan, Tstuffing his fat cheeks full of corn crumble. Ice and snow pelted down, and then hens were underfoot, eager for their evening meal. Though those birds would peck a mouse to death or quarter a toad—a foursome group effort, each hen heading in its own cardinal direction—they shied away from the squirrels. Used to be I’d let 80 my hound out with the chickens. She’d corner a squirrel quick, catch it by the neck, and shake it until the life was gone. I didn’t have a dog anymore—I figured it might outlive me if I got one now—so I made for the manure shovel. I raised it, took aim, and smashed the squirrel, right on the skull. Left it in the pan. Let the hens gather round. Weather as it was didn’t bode well for the squirrels or for anyone who might be driving on the mountain. When you get winter up here, it works something like this: snow and rain stick to the road and then turns into an icy sort of slush. What people don’t get when they come up http://www.deepdyve.com/assets/images/DeepDyve-Logo-lg.png Appalachian Review University of North Carolina Press

The Spring

Lamb, Sheila R.
Appalachian Review , Volume 48 (3) – Mar 22, 2021
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Publisher
University of North Carolina Press
Copyright
Copyright © Berea College
ISSN
2692-9244
eISSN
2692-9287

Abstract

THE SPRING SHEILA R. LAMB hat squirrel sat right in the middle of the chicken’s feed pan, Tstuffing his fat cheeks full of corn crumble. Ice and snow pelted down, and then hens were underfoot, eager for their evening meal. Though those birds would peck a mouse to death or quarter a toad—a foursome group effort, each hen heading in its own cardinal direction—they shied away from the squirrels. Used to be I’d let 80 my hound out with the chickens. She’d corner a squirrel quick, catch it by the neck, and shake it until the life was gone. I didn’t have a dog anymore—I figured it might outlive me if I got one now—so I made for the manure shovel. I raised it, took aim, and smashed the squirrel, right on the skull. Left it in the pan. Let the hens gather round. Weather as it was didn’t bode well for the squirrels or for anyone who might be driving on the mountain. When you get winter up here, it works something like this: snow and rain stick to the road and then turns into an icy sort of slush. What people don’t get when they come up

Journal

Appalachian Review – University of North Carolina Press

Published: Mar 22, 2021

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