Tippy, Chapter Seven
By Jim Thompson
HCP columnist
Continued from last week.
About midafternoon, many people gathered at the Methodist Church across the road. There was a large black hearse. I didn’t notice when it got there or where it came from. The old chicken came out of nowhere, “Quick, you have got to move further back!”
“Why?”
“Just do it.”
In about a half an hour, the people came out of the church and some of the were carrying a big wooden box. They put the box in the hearse, then all the people and the hearse came over to the cemetery. They took the box out of the hearse and put it in the ground.
A man in a suit read some words out of a Black Book that looked like Jim’s. The box was put in a hole in the ground, and it looked like everyone was getting ready to leave.
The old chicken appeared out of nowhere: “Maybe we can catch a ride to Hillsboro on the hearse. It will be the last thing to leave the cemetery."
I asked, “Is that near Ivy Hill Drive in Cincinnati?”
She said, “NEC."
That means not even close.
“How will we catch a ride on the hearse?”
“We’ll ride on top; they will never see us.”
“Well, maybe you can get up there, but there is no way I can jump that far.”
“Tippy, you jump as high as you can, and I will grab you by the nape of your neck and get you the rest of the way.”
Sounds like a crazy idea to me, but I was desperate to get to Ivy Hill Drive. After the third attempt, I made it by getting some purchase with my front feet on some shiny S-shaped bars on the side of the hearse. And some help from the old chicken, of course.
Pretty soon, we were headed toward Hillsboro on Route 124. The chicken had her wings for balance, but I had nothing but my feet on the slick roof. I about slid off on a couple of curves. I finally did it on a sharp curve to the left.
Good thing I slipped off on a curve to the left. If I had done that on a curve to the right, I might have landed on the pavement or an oncoming car. The chicken had not noticed I had slipped off for quite a while; she was up front and looking forward.
I landed in a big bunch of grass. The force of the landing must have knocked me out. The chicken finally showed up and woke me up. “You OK?”
“I think so. Are we nearing Ivy Hill Drive?”
“NEC! Let me think for a while and come up with a new plan. You rest.”
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.