My grandmother and I decided to take the short walk down the street to my cousin's house where he had a small pond he had stocked with fish. Mind you, by stocked with fish, I mean that when he would go fishing in the local river, he would periodically bring home his catch of bream or bass, catfish or perch and throw them out back in the small pond that had been dug for drainage. She gathered the appropriate fishing equipment. A cane pole, a pocket fisherman (which she had bought off QVC about 10 years ago), a pair of pliers, an old dish towel, and an empty can.
"We're gonna need bait",she said and directed me to the the back of the shed where several boards, and bricks were laying on the ground. Taking the can, I commenced to flipping each board and brick and gathering the worms before they disappeared from the sunlight. It wasn't long before she appeared behind the shed, shovel in hand. She proceeded to dig shovel fulls of the dark, rich soil, directing me to "git him" before the worm disappeared once again into the damp ground. Having done this many times before, it didn't take us long before we were satisfied that we had gathered enough bait to supply our afternoon entertainment.
It was a short walk down to the pond and the scene was one of a catch all plot of land. In addition to fish that made the pond home,was an old shopping cart, the rim of a tire and a piece of sheet metal. A beer can here and there added to the ambiance.
Between us and our fishing adventure was a goat pen with several small goats. To the right, tied to a tree was a large "Billy" goat with long curved horns and a white flowing beard. A tom turkey was in a separate pen. With a sly grin, she motioned toward Billy. "Ain't he pretty?" Granny said of the goat. "I'll bet his beard is soft. Go on over there and pet him."
It is important to note at this point that my grandmother grew up on farms and safety notwithstanding, loved a good joke. She knew good and well the character flaws of a old billy goat. I on the other hand grew up in a suburb and was expected to not know any better. I had,however, heard the story of my cousin walking through his yard after one too many and ending up wrestling Billy by the horns after having been knocked from his feet.
"Yeah right! I've heard all about that goat and know better!" I replied, closing the gate to the pond behind me.
We must have for fished for thirty minutes, occasionally getting a nibble, but as expected, no great luck. As the heat of the day descended upon us, we decided we had had enough fun and headed back. I could tell she was getting tired so I carried the poles and other equipment and we took a short cut to a low wire of electric fencing that she pointed out was low enough for us to step over.
As I stood on the other side, offering my hand to the octogenarian, she lifted her leg...but not high enough to cross the wire.
"Wait a minute! You're going to get shocked," I cautioned. "Lets just go back the other way"
"No. I've got it... Just take this rag and hold that wire down for me."
Looking at the perspiration building up on her forehead, I reasoned that she had overdone it and the shortest walk was the better option. I took the rag from her hand and grasped the wire to hold it down. "It's probably not even on", she observed, as she rested her hand on my arm and simultaneously touched the fence. As the surge of electricity passed from her hand, into my arm, and down to my feet, I let out a yelp I fell back.
"Gotcha didn't I? She laughed as she stepped over the wire.
