Posted By: 8dognight
Chapter Two - Living in Lincoln's Mother's, Etc. - 02/19/18 07:54 PM
Living in Lincoln's Mother's Doctor's Dog House
Chapter Two
I anagrammed the final garbled letters—glenahmrcae--in the solicitor’s letter to discover the baby’s name. He frowned and turned his little head when I tried the obvious Galen H McRae, Megan Rachel, Helga Carmen, Charm N Eagle, and Regal Marche but gurgled approval when I showed him a last desperate suggestion. You already know the name he chose, I’m sure. All the litigation and those minor wars made headlines. Trial by combat is so stressful; I was years banging the dents out of the family armor and matching greaves, vambraces, and gauntlets with brigadines, cuirasses, and faulds.
Sidetracked again. You’re here about the adoption. I’ll try to stay on course.
I ransacked the cobwebbed nursery, untouched since my childhood, for a baby bottle; toted a bucket from my old crib to the barn; milked one of the goats; fed the baby; followed Devil into the herb garden where he helpfully unearthed a pair of pliers and unhelpfully ate a gardening glove. Then Devil and I brought in the horses along with the pachyderm, Ellie, and Sierra, the donkey.
Which reminds me, I need to grain the livestock. Want to come along?
Where did I tuck the key to the feed room?
Sometimes I hide things from Harold so he can’t hide them for me, a wrinkle in our relationship that escalated after our darling son came to us. Honestly, only a man protects a cache with a cobra to avoid ordering online or going to Home Depot for baby-proof latches. More imagination than sense, that’s Harold. His philosophy is, “Why spend the money for hardware when we have a perfectly good snake?”
Ah, I remember. Under a floorboard in the wine cellar.
You and I are heading out of the conservatory door down the path a quarter mile or so to those white board fences. Watch your step. I’m not sure if those are boulders or turtles. Picturesque, isn’t it? Nothing soothes like the sight of horses dotted on rolling hills blanketed by green grass.
Harold came home with the horses one evening after a company he designed for merged with a bigger outfit. Harold was offered a troop of highly trained equines in lieu of a cash pay-out and stock in the new corporation. Harold took the horses. Yes, I rolled my eyes, too. Mrs. Beanstalk must have felt the same way. Harold believed he could make a fortune at Renaissance fairs and wrangling for movies.
Is that my phone? Oh, my, an emergency? Doctor, here is a partial list of which horses go where and what they do if you get their stalls wrong. I have to fly. Don’t worry. You’ll figure it out.
Chapter Two
I anagrammed the final garbled letters—glenahmrcae--in the solicitor’s letter to discover the baby’s name. He frowned and turned his little head when I tried the obvious Galen H McRae, Megan Rachel, Helga Carmen, Charm N Eagle, and Regal Marche but gurgled approval when I showed him a last desperate suggestion. You already know the name he chose, I’m sure. All the litigation and those minor wars made headlines. Trial by combat is so stressful; I was years banging the dents out of the family armor and matching greaves, vambraces, and gauntlets with brigadines, cuirasses, and faulds.
Sidetracked again. You’re here about the adoption. I’ll try to stay on course.
I ransacked the cobwebbed nursery, untouched since my childhood, for a baby bottle; toted a bucket from my old crib to the barn; milked one of the goats; fed the baby; followed Devil into the herb garden where he helpfully unearthed a pair of pliers and unhelpfully ate a gardening glove. Then Devil and I brought in the horses along with the pachyderm, Ellie, and Sierra, the donkey.
Which reminds me, I need to grain the livestock. Want to come along?
Where did I tuck the key to the feed room?
Sometimes I hide things from Harold so he can’t hide them for me, a wrinkle in our relationship that escalated after our darling son came to us. Honestly, only a man protects a cache with a cobra to avoid ordering online or going to Home Depot for baby-proof latches. More imagination than sense, that’s Harold. His philosophy is, “Why spend the money for hardware when we have a perfectly good snake?”
Ah, I remember. Under a floorboard in the wine cellar.
You and I are heading out of the conservatory door down the path a quarter mile or so to those white board fences. Watch your step. I’m not sure if those are boulders or turtles. Picturesque, isn’t it? Nothing soothes like the sight of horses dotted on rolling hills blanketed by green grass.
Harold came home with the horses one evening after a company he designed for merged with a bigger outfit. Harold was offered a troop of highly trained equines in lieu of a cash pay-out and stock in the new corporation. Harold took the horses. Yes, I rolled my eyes, too. Mrs. Beanstalk must have felt the same way. Harold believed he could make a fortune at Renaissance fairs and wrangling for movies.
Is that my phone? Oh, my, an emergency? Doctor, here is a partial list of which horses go where and what they do if you get their stalls wrong. I have to fly. Don’t worry. You’ll figure it out.
