My brother G is the bestest and most prefect brother in the whole entire world. I could list his attributes but he is taken by the delightful N so I don't want to make everyone else jealous.
Anyway, I remember only one fight with my brother. He admittedly, has no recollection of this but I am sure it is worth the telling.
It was a dark and stormy night and we went out to check the sheep. All was well until we found a dead lamb near the shearing shed. G insisted I pick it up. I refused. I was a girl and I was happy, in principle, to pick up any dead animal (I was a farm girl - or at least was convincing myself of the fact) but as he was there and he was a bloke then it was his job not mine. He was adamant that as a 'farm girl' I was perfectly capable of picking up the dead beastie. I refused.
G is eight years younger than me (probably about 10 at the time) and stomped up to the house to regale the event to mom.
They both laughed at my expense (with reasonably good humor).
Years later when G shot my dog, she was nipping at the sheep - no other option - I was eternally grateful we didn't have the same conversation over again. On the other hand, on both occasions, I should have done what I needed to do. It would have made me a better person - if only in my eyes.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
1 comment:
Your baby brother sounds like mine...gotta love em hey! Farm girl or not, I think girls shouldn't have to touch dead things if there's a bloke around, and yes I realise how sexist that sounds...lol...
k
Post a Comment