Tippy, Chapter Four

By Jim Thompson
HCP columnist

Continued from last week.

I got up a little after dark. My goal for the night was to get through the little village without being picked up by humans. I stayed in the ditches alongside the road, but when I came to the crossroad, there was no choice but to come out in the road and run across it. I waited until I could hear no cars and then made my dash.  

Then, I went back to the ditch along the road. Oops! There was a small stream that crossed the road and blocked my path in the ditch. I fell in.  

Not a problem, except I was all wet and it was a cool night. I found a place in the tall grass to hide and spent the rest of the night and the next day there. I was glad I had gotten through the little village without getting caught.

When night came, I started out again. I was hoping to make it home that night, but I encountered some foxes. I was clever enough that they did not see or smell me, but it caused me another day’s delay.  

I was so anxious to get home I could hardly stand it, but prudently I thought I should lay low for another day.

It got dark again. I was determined to make it home tonight. I was probably a little reckless, but I pressed on. There it was! The lane to the house! 

I abandoned all caution and raced up the lane as fast as I could go. First the straight stretch, then the curve to the left, up the hill and the farm buildings come into view. I pushed as hard as my little legs would go. 

When I got to the end of the lane, there was nothing but empty buildings.

No people, no animals, the corncribs were empty, nothing. They had left, and the only thing left was Buttons’ old doghouse, which I had used. I was completely dejected. They really had gone to Cincinnati, wherever that is.

One of the old chickens came around the corner of the barn. She stopped and looked me up and down, actually more right to left since I am longer than I am tall.

She cackled and spoke in a soliloquy, “The people have left and so has the Pete, never to return. They took their chattels, sold their cattle and went west to Cincinnati.”

I asked, “Did they leave a forwarding address?”

Quick as a flash she pulled a scrap of paper from somewhere.  

“Here, I thought you might come looking for them.”

To be continued.

Jim Thompson, formerly of Marshall, is a graduate of Hillsboro High School and the University of Cincinnati. He resides in Duluth, Ga. and is a columnist for The Highland County Press.