The Rural Voice, 2001-11, Page 12v
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8 THE RURAL VOICE
Jeffrey Carter
Of white lies, big lies
and dog, fights
"And it carne about that the
owners no longer worked their farms.
They farmed on paper; and they
forgot the land, the smell, the feel of
it, and remembered only that they
owned it. remembered only what they
gained and
lost by it."
– John
Steinbeck,
The Grapes
of Wrath
I heard the
old house at.
the Carter
home farm
is to be
bulldozed so
I took a
drive out
there. From
Woodstock,
I headed to Innerkip, crossed Pittock
Lake, turned left at the 16th line, left
onto the Innerkip Sideroad and right
onto the gravel of the 15th. At the
next cross-roads, Goodyer's Corners,
the square hundred in the north-west
quadrant is where I'm from.
I explained this to the teenager in
the house — a tall, blonde, gangling
fellow with the world "Psycho"
printed on his T-shirt. Then I took
some pictures from the road. As I was
doing this, a power -walking woman
who may have been in her thirties
approached. I looked her way. She
kept on walking. She passed on by.
Used to be that folks would say
hello.
That got me to thinking of the old
days and for some reason I thought
about the dog fight stories.
The Bruce boys up the 15th had
two dogs.
Blackie was a ball of black, matted
fur. It loved to chase cars and trucks
and actually lost its tail one time,
giving it the appearance of a little
black bear. Mickey was a fair bit
bigger, short -haired, stocky, and
looked a bit like a lab.
On our farm we had a dog with the
1