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Donna's Journal
Of Hogs and Such

From a side window of the house I could see a rather nice looking middle aged man step up to the door to ring the doorbell. He attire was western with the traditional Stetson hat. The trousers he wore were the dress clothing of a cowboy. They were not the Levi's but were of a tan color and decorated around the front pockets with the top stitching of that design. This told me he was someone with authority. The common blue jeans were the costume of the average person.

“Answer the door, Honey!  Someone here to see you.”  I called to my husband.

The conversation was clipped and short. “The man pulled a card from his pocket and thrust it at my husband with a quick flick of his wrist much as someone would pull a weapon. “Harpo back here does not want you to step on his property.”

My husband's reply was as short, also. “I haven't been on his property.”

“He wants you to know he has leased the land behind you.”

“Oh?  Well, good!  Maybe he will mow it instead of burning it and my place as well. He's already been fined one thousand dollars  for trying to burn out the Indian family next to me.”

The law officer turned to leave as quickly as he came. He waved his hands beside him as if washing them and shaking off the water. “I'm not getting into neighborhood fights. This isn't Ponca City. It is Osage county. Too, big for me to get involved in stuff like this.” The man was gone as quickly as he arrived.

My mind went back to the years before. “Hmmm. Harpo again!  Oh well. I guess it is time for him, it has  been a while. I know I shouldn't laugh but the childlike shenanigans of the man were funny, I couldn't help thinking.

There was the time Mr. Winston, another neighbor,  had called. “I can't get excited with this heart condition.”  He asked. “Will you call Harpo and tell him he has to move those hogs. We can't even step out the back door the stench is so terrible.”

“I know.  It is bad.  We do have it our covenant for no hogs. I don't think he will listen to me. But, I will try.”

Sure enough. I might as well have been talking to the wind.

“Yeah, you blankity blank Indians over there.”  Mr Harpo minced no words.

“Is that the problem, Sir?  You don't like Indians?”

The surly man wasn't bashful. “As a matter of fact I don't like gut-eaters.”  He came right out with his true feelings.

Of course, the profanity went all over me but the racial slur came right up close behind as far as insult goes.

I tried to summon up as much of my lady like decorum as possible. “Mr. Harpo.  Excuse me, Sir.  I will have a gentleman call you.” And, with this I hung up the phone.

Mrs. Winston later told me her husband had called Harpo.  “You best move the hogs, Harpo. You have a farm where they can go. I will give you twenty-four hours before calling the Health authorities.”

“I wondered why the hogs were gone in such a sort time.” I remembered telling Mrs. Winston while trying  not to laugh.

Then there was the time an arrow from a high powered bow came flying over the fence to land close to my feet. That is another story, though. I couldn't help but think, then.  “Is this ever a reversal of roles!”

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