Wounded but still kicking!

By Jack Elliott
Contributor

The other morning at the debating table in the Bakery in Rainy River someone mentioned strangers in town. All ears perked up. We are just naturally curious... or to be more exact nosey.
“Yeah I seen that fellow. Looked like he might have bee Muslim or someone else from the far east. His face was all covered with cloth and his hat pulled low. Hope it wasn’t a terrorist,” opined Gloomy who always looks at things from a negative point of view.
“Naw it was just Pickle hiding his war wound,” explained the Runt as he pulled himself up to the table reaching for his knife and jam and commenced the artistic spread on the flax toast.
“Pickle! War wound! What’s going on?” we all wondered aloud pinning the Runt with our questions.
“Well I wouldn’t want to be a carrier of tales, but...,” protested the Runt as he slowly took a sizable bite and slowly masticated it, savouring the taste before taking a deep breath and taking in the audience he held in rapt attention.
“You know that prized wood splitter he re-invented and re-powered, well during a major splitting operation it threw a ‘rang and chucked out a big piece of ash taking him clean between the eyes. Knocked him clean silly. Blood everywhere according to Sweetie and the emergency room used up a whole pack of sutures sewing him up,” explained the Runt , then he paused to attack another piece of toast.
The barrage of questions flooded across the table, “Is he OK?’, “Did they admit him to hospital?”, “Is he off work?”, “Did he suffer a concussion?”
The Runt just concentrated on his toast and waved toward the front door, where on cue, Pickle his head hanging, trudged in the door, pulled up a chair and accepted the proffered cup of coffee. Everyone stared taking in the damage. It did not appear too bad. The quiz and comments started.
“So talking when you should have been listening,” brayed Ziggy wise in the way of the spousal mystique.
“Did they have to probe much to get all those wooden splinter and slivers out?” I asked as sensitively as I could unsuccessfully suppressing a chuckle.
“Oh they didn’t probe for splinters on him. They wouldn’t dare. They wouldn’t know where to stop,” cut in Rudy. Pickle just sat and took it and then explained as best he could remember exactly what happened. There may be a couple of gaps in that recollection.
Things around the debating table have returned to normal and we only spend 10 to 15 minutes each day reviewing the near miss.
The repercussions down in Hooterville have also settled down. Pickle’s two dairy farming brothers were pretty anxious for a couple of days. With Pickle only weeks away from retirement from the CN, they have been counting on some more help in the relief milker department or in piling bales on a hot summer day up in the peak of the barn.
That’s when the Runt opined the only chore Pickle, as an engineer was really fit for was taking over on the fork and shovel when the barn cleaner breaks down.