“He’s yours. What’s his name?
“Sharkbait.”
He laughs. and grabs his can of Coke that is sitting next to him on the little fold out table. I have never known my dad to not have a Coke to drink.
“What’s Chris been up to?”
“Haven’t talked to him lately. He invited me out over the weekend, but I had to work.”
“hmm” he says and nods his head.
“Hmm, what?”
“Well, it’s not like you, that’s all.”
I can see the disappointment in my dad’s face. I hang my head and pick at my thumbnail. I have to remember to come over every Tuesday. I have nothing else planned on Tuesdays, or any other day for that matter, so I need to stop making excuses and being lazy.
“Come on. I need to feed the ducks before they have a hissy fit.”
he gets up and heads for the big fenced in area where all their smaller farm animals are kept. I get up to follow then pause.
“Wait. When did y’all get a cow?”
“Oh, that’s Porkchop.” he says so nonchalantly. He’s in no way surprised when mom brings home another “outside pet” as she likes to call them.
I catch up to his side and my brows pinch together.
WHEN YOU'RE READY
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“You named the cow Porkchop?” I laugh
“You aren’t the only one who can think up clever names.
Besides, this time he isn’t a pet. He will be dinner.”
“Oh wow. I’m shocked mom is allowing that to happen.”
“She refuses to take care of her. She is one hundred percent my responsibility. She says if she gets too close to it, we will have a pet cow.”
My eyes are wide. My dad has been telling my mom for years that there’s no point in having all these chickens and ducks if he can’t have one for dinner occasionally. Mom crosses her arms and rolls her eyes at him every time.
“At least you get the eggs, yeah?”
“Yeah. that’s the only plus, besides the joy they bring your mother.”
We feed the ducks then search for their eggs. Ducks are so weird. Unlike chickens, who lay their eggs in the same spot each time, ducks will lay them all over the yard. You have to watch where you walk so you don’t step on them.
Back at the house, dinner is ready, and mom has the table set. I sit and my dad passes each dish around. I load my plate. I don’t even remember what I ate all weekend. Lots of bar peanuts and pizza. It’s nice to have a home cooked meal.
Mom talks about the local gossip and dad tells her about my cat.
“He’s not my cat.” I say, my voice hitting the next octave and I throw my hands up.
“He feeds it and he named it.” My dad says, throwing me under the bus.
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