Working the Farm
By: Rusty Alderson
Tags: Legacy, Farming, Fiction, Inheritance, Short Story

Photo by Richard Bell on Unsplash

“So, what makes us different?” Brenda asked.

“Communication,” Alan said. “God gave us two things he didn’t give to any other animal species — the ability to reason and the ability to communicate with others of our species.” Brenda and her brother, Alan were debating mankind’s place in the universe as they worked on their chores.

“You gonna tell me that Shake and Ivan can’t communicate?” Brenda answered. “You haven’t been paying attention. And you have even said yourself that sometimes you can see the wheels turning when Shake cocks his head and tries to figure something out.”

At the sound of his name, Shakespeare cocked his head and seemed to concentrate on the conversation — as if he were trying to understand what was being said. Ivanhoe, too, seemed to know that this conversation involved him, and his ears went up and his face turned toward Brenda. Brenda continued pulling clothes off of the clothesline.

“Yes, that dog… those dogs are special, all right,” Alan agreed as he gapped one of the new sparkplugs he had just bought for the grain truck. “Shake does seem to ‘reason…’ And Ivan is growing up to be just like him”

Alan turned to look at the two dogs which were now both looking intently at him. The two of them earned their keep by helping out on the farm — herding the sheep, driving the cattle between pastures, standing watch at night, and keeping the pigs in line.

Shakespeare was often able to perform simple tasks on command, like, “Shakespeare, go fetch the rope over by the wagon” or, “Go tell Alan that I need him. Go get Alan.” He was freakishly smart and usually understood exactly what was intended.

And then there were the chickens.

Photo by Brooke Cagle on Unsplash

The chickens, the way that Shakespeare saw it, often needed to be reminded that they were not to be taken seriously — that they were the butt of some cosmic joke. So Shakespeare made it his duty to periodically run at them and bark so that they understood their position in the pecking order. This he did mostly for fun and not from necessity. He took on this “chore” without being asked because it was great fun to hear them squawk and watch them scatter!

He and Ivanhoe were superior farm dogs and they, too, understood their place in the hierarchy as farm hands. But they also satisfied Brenda’s nurturing instinct, even with her father’s insistence that they were not pets.

“Those dogs are work animals, not pets! They have to earn their keep like everyone else on this farm,” Chet had admonished her. “We will not molly-coddle them like a couple of prima donnas!”

Brenda had replied, “Yes, Daddy,” with a slight southern drawl that she used when she was trying to cajole her father. She knew that she was the apple of Chet’s eye and used that knowledge to her advantage whenever she could.

Alan continued with his lecture as he kept changing the sparkplugs in the old GMC.

“No other animal has the ability to do that. If we squander that gift, then we are no different from any other… every other animal. Language… Precise language is damned important! Semantics are important.”

“I’m not sure why you think it is so important,” Brenda teased.

She admired her big brother’s intelligence and loved to have serious debates with him. But she would often get to the point in a discussion where it just became more fun to “push his buttons” than to arrive at a pleasant and meaningful conclusion. She couldn’t help herself.

Not seeing the twinkle in Brenda’s eye, Alan replied, “Because I believe that truth is important. If one can’t deduce truth from the words that one hears, then nothing else matters. How can you have a meaningful conversation with anyone if there are no agreed-upon rules of engagement… no agreed-upon definitions? You might as well be spitting into the wind.”

“Supper time!” Gracie called out the back door. “Brenda, go find your brothers and tell them that I am putting food on the table.”

“Ok, Momma. As soon as I get the last of the wash pulled in.” Then she added, “It sure smells good!”