Of Worms, and Fish

I have a secret that I don't often share with people. Around these parts, girls are supposed to be girlie, and girlies just don't do this sort of thing. Nowadays I don't care whether someone thinks less of me, but way back I had to keep my mouth shut about this or never, ever, date.

I like to fish.

There. I said it. Now that it is out there, I feel so much better! I really do enjoy casting out a line to see what take a bite. My brother and I went with my dad a few times growing up, and we always went fishing at my grandparents' house. My grandfather had two or three ponds at the back of the farm, and he stocked them with catfish and perch and some other fish that I can't name.

Almost all of the men in the family would gather up their rods and reels and such and head out to the ponds at some point during family gatherings. Occasionally I would get to go. I didn't usually catch anything, but for me it was about hanging out with my uncles. Those guys were the interesting ones in my family.

Of course, eventually, all of my uncles and aunts had kids(I was the oldest grandchild), and they came along with their parents to family events. There were five young cousins around the same age. They were shy at first, but once I chased them around the farm a few times(playing tag), they warmed right up. One day they decided that they wanted to go fishing. None of the adults wanted to go, so they came to me. It was hot outside, but I put on shorts and pulled my hair back into a pony tail, and off we went. We even took Beau, my grandfather's dog.

I lead the group through the wheat field, and they chose the second pond to try their luck. I put my bait on and threw out the line. I turned around when someone tugged on the back of my shirt; five little faces peered up at me. They all had worms in their hands.

"We don't know how to put the worm on," one of my cousins said.

This left me in a quandry: how do I teach these kids how to put the worm on the hook without jabbing themselves in the finger? I was barely able to do it myself without mishap! I had visions of the hullabaloo that would occur if any one of these kids were injured; most of them involved my mother giving me The Look. Then inspiration struck. I grabbed the nearest worm and hook; in short order all the hooks were baited and the kids were casting their lines.

Except that Beau, who probably was the stupidest dog EVER, thought that we were playing Fetch. He raced after a line as a boy cast it, and leapt into the pond, swimming right out to the bobber. Then he tried to grab the bobber, as if it were a ball. We all yelled at him, but this confused him more. I am sure that the fish were freaking out as well. Beau finally got tired of swimming and climbed out of the pond.

After that, we all settled down to fish. Or at least, I did. Little boys have short attention spans; they ended up talking and chasing each other around while I kept track of their lines. Needless to say, they did not catch anything. I, however, was able to wrangle the fish of the day: a perch about <-------> that big. I was very discouraged. The hook took up the entire body of that poor thing. My uncles showed up about that time, looking for their children.

I was ready to go back to the house too!


This is another prompt from MamaKat's. It brought back some nice memories.

My Girlie-Girl Side Was Showing

When I was living with my First Cat, Isobel, I knew next to nothing about cats. I knew that she was a cat, and that was next to nothing. I had to take her to the vet to even find out that she was a girl. But we settled into a nice routine, and life was good. Until Isobel decided that I was not contributing sufficiently to the household.

When a cat sees you as an equal, they bring you their kills to share. If a cat thinks that you're an idiot, they bring you LIVE creatures so that YOU can learn to kill them. Isobel started off bringing me dead things, including a white-wing dove that she left underneath my coffee table. I didn't discover that until I hit the poor dead bird with my foot, and I am sure that Isobel got quite a bit of enjoyment watching me hop around with a roiling case of the heebie-jeebies.

Then Isobel started bringing me live things--lizards, toads, small birds, a gigantic cockroach, etc. She would come to the door, meowing until I opened it, then she would walk in and drop her prize. I try to pretend like I'm a tough chick, and when I was single I handled all these creepy-crawly things by myself. I am embarrassed to say this now, but I acted just like all those ridiculous girlie-girl stereotypes. I would squeal hysterically, jump on the couch, run around waving my arms in the air, and generally have a conniption. (I am not casting aspersions on girlie-girls, but that has never been descriptive of my personality.)

The neighbors likely thought I was being murdered, but all I was doing was trying to safely catch whatever critter Isobel had dropped and herd it out the door. Well, except for the cockroach--I pounded that thing so hard that it separated into individual atoms(I have a phobia, and it makes me wacky). Isobel would sulk for days when I would release her prisoners, as if she despaired of my ability to feed myself if she weren't around. My girlie-girl spaz-out was a completely involuntary response on my part, and once I calmed down, I always hoped that nobody saw me flailing about in my apartment.

And for many, many years, my secret was safe. Even the person who knows me best, my husband, had no idea.

Until last night.

I looked outside on our patio and saw our cat Zena heading our way*. She had something in her mouth and a determined look in her eye, which flashed me back to Isobel. I said a very bad word and rushed outside. I had to chase Zena around for a couple of minutes, but I got her to drop what was in her mouth, scooped her up and threw her in the house.

Then I looked down.

It was a dead mouse. On my patio. A dead mouse.

I did what most people do in these situations.

"EEEEEEEEEEEK!!!!!!"

Yep. I went into full-on girlie-girl mode, screaming, running around, and just completely losing my damn mind over that dead mouse. I was so completely hysterical that I didn't even realize that I was in my backyard.

Until I saw my neighbor out on his patio, watering the grass. And another neighbor grilling. And a bunch of kids playing on their trampoline.

Even that German Shepherd, who never stops barking, was silently staring at me, mouth agape.

I shivered, still feeling those heebie-jeebies, and 'calmly' walked back into my house. I took a deep breath and nicely asked my husband to please go outside and dispose of the mouse carcass. He did it, but he teased me unmercifully about it.

If anyone asks, I'm going to say that I had a bee down my shirt.



*We don't 'let' Zena outside. She usually gets out before we even notice, because she is that fast. Luckily, she knows where we live.