Once we were settled pretty well on the farm we started to get animals in. Chickens came in from family. I've never traveled with hens. It was an odd experience. The roosters were loud. We ended up with too many roosters, so one had to be um...dealt with. Uh, yeah. Taps wasn't played, but I felt sorry for him.

We put the chicken's coop at the side of the upper shed. It wasn't too far from the house. It was wired in with chicken wire and some wood, and a top was put on. It wasn't much, but it kept them happy at least. We got eggs from them occasionally. I think if we had a better roost and house for them they would have done a more better laying, but at least they did what we needed. There wasn't an army to feed, only three of us at the time.

A few weeks later, the dog showed up. I don't even remember when exactly. I just called it Dog. It slept around. It visited. And he didn't bother our full time dog, which was really not a dog in my eyes. The Dog stayed a few days, and then up and left. He'd show back up later. I guess he rented land on many properties. If it smelled yummy I'm sure he lived in for awhile.

The dog of ours that I didn't see as a dog was Little Bit. He's gone now, but, he was a pomeranian. They're protective little balls of fur that really don't resemble a dog. They resemble a dust mop! But boy, what a protective dust mop he was! And he was adorable. He was the second pom we had. Our first was Dancer. He was a red one and he was gorgeous. Little Bit was Dancer's son, not by blood though, more like through adoption. LIttle Bit was full blood and registered, his name was Dancer's Little Bit of Precious. Precious was the name of another pom in the family. Hey, creativity is a must with pom names!

We also had a female come in a few months after Little Bit became "ready". He sired a few babies here and there, and we made some extra cash from selling the pure bred pups to some, and gave some to friends. They were good dogs, and they kept us company. Just what you need in a animal anyway, right?

Let's see...what to write about. Ah, the roads...ah, yes, the roads.

The road to get to the farm was long. If you went left at the driveway, you could go for several miles to a fork in the road. Go up the large hill and mountain and you'd get up at the mountain top near the 10 foot by 10 foot post office for the region. It was made of block, cement, and a new roof. It wasn't that pretty, but it served it's purpose. That road where the post office was led to two towns. If you went left, and down over the mountain that way, you'd end up in Rogersville, Tennessee. If you went right, you'd end up near the Sneedville, Tennessee area. I think you had to cross a bridge near the river and take a left to get to Sneedville though, if I recall correctly.

Oh, back to the fork in the road. If you went left at the fork, and not up the mountain, it wound about a bit and ended up hitting pavement. Finally, pavement! Then it would hit the same road that was the main road from Rogersville toward Sneedville, but you'd be on the lower half of the mountain.

If you went right back at the driveway of the farm, though, you'd wind and turn and dip through gravel road for awhile and finally, once you hit the Virginia side of things, you'd find pavement. That pavement lead you out of the mountain area and into a more civilized zone of things. It wasn't as quiet, and there was a small General Store at the end of the road. It had small things in it. Ya know, the whole time I was there in that area, I never went inside that old place.

The end of the road there met up with a highway. Now, let me see...that highway was named, and I can't recall the name at all. If you went left....you'd end up somewhere I don't remember. If you went right, it'd lead you into Gate City, Virginia. That's where a grocery store was, a vetranarian was, and a few other things. I never went into that area much. I hit the grocery store sometimes though. I worked at a dog kennel in that area for a few months. But most of my work was over in Kingsport, Tennessee. To get there from the farm you went through Gate City, Virginia and then back into Tennessee. State lines were sure awkward down there.

Kingsport is near Johnson City and that area of Tennessee. It's the North East area.

Well, anyway, at the end of the farm road, right by that General Store, we had to make a stop when we were coming in. We had just been to my Mom and Dad's place in West Virginia (about three hours away), and we had a huge wardrobe on top of the car we were taking to the farm. It was to hold clothes in the closet area. (We enclosed the upper porch off the bedroom and made it into a closet.)

The wardrobe was shifting a bit from the long haul over the mountain, so we parked near the store there to fix ropes. As we were doing that, I heard this strange cry from the shrubs and tall grasses that divided the highway from the farm road. It wasn't much space, just about 15 feet or so. There were a couple of drainage ditches and pipes along that, and garbage and toss aways from rude people who littered instead of kept bags in their car. I kept looking, thinking the cry was some catbird.

It wasn't. It was a cat!

The poor little kitten came mouthing out of that ditch, where the pipe was,  non-stop until I came and picked it up. At the time, it looked like a chunk of coal. Gray and black and browns with cute yellow-green eyes begining to form from the awkward kitten blue color. We asked the General Store owner about the kitten, as we stood outside, and he said someone dumped a box of kittens. This one was the only one he'd seen for awhile.

We took her home.

How could we not? No one else would!

But, we had a problem. We already had a cat at the farm. He was about one year old at that time, barely that, and he was a big boy who was used to being the baby of the house. What would he think of this baby coming into the picture?

Ohhhhhh boy I was wondering.

In the car I turned the kitten over, and saw she was a girl. My Vincent (the orange one) was already fixed, so I wasn't concerned, but I knew we'd have to get her fixed as well. But first, a bath! We got her cleaned up. To this day I think she remembers that bucket...goodness, it makes me laugh and shudder at the same time.

But don't you know it, her black and gray and browns dissapeared and she turned out to be gray and white!? The vet, once we got her to one, said she was half Siamese and half tabby. He could see the Siamese in her bone structure and paw shape. I was surprised, but happy. I didn't mind what she was. She was full of spunk, she was bossy, and she was fun. Just what my lazy old orange Vincent needed in the house!

We had her for some time, without a name. We kept thinking Spot, because of a spot on her nose...or Koala Bear...she looked like one from a profile...but nothing really helped out. My son, once he could talk and so forth, finally gave her a real name. She became Darling Little One, and became his cat.

Vincent was mine. Darling became his.

Time has flown by, we've moved countless times, and the cats are still with me. My son, who lives with his Daddy in another state at the moment, has other cats around him, but Darling (who had a name change four years ago) still loves him as her own, and she also owns my daughter and my youngest son. She has claimed them, this time around. We don't call her Darling anymore. She outgrew that name by her actions and her old age.

Her name is now Oy, as in, Oy Vey. And yes, she lives up to that name very, very well.

She has survived her brother, Vincent, who died of Kidney failure. She's still strong. She's still got some kick in her step. She still makes us smile. I'm not sure how long she'll still be with us, she's getting on in age, but we'll keep her close as can be, and as happy as we can while she's still with us.

Darling Little One

aka

Oy Vey