Lately I've been thinking about the difference between what one person means and what another person perceives. Take my brother, John, for instance (You know him, he was Walter the Chicken's mid wife). When he was much younger, he was an MP stationed at Ft. Leavenworth, KS...not at the prison, but the Army base there. Our mother lived about an hour away so John would stay with her when he could. One night he was on his way back to the base from Mother's house, driving on a back road, when he happened upon a couple of hunting type dogs in the middle of the road. All involved were surprised at the sudden encounter and made reflexive avoidance maneuvers. Unfortunately for the dogs, they didn't move the way John thought they would and he hit them. When John pulled over to inspect the damages to animal and machine, he found to his dismay that one of the dogs had not survived. However, he did notice the other had managed to head out over the farm field next to the road. Hoping to assess the damages to the remaining hound and possibly ensure that it didn't just wander off and die, John set out in hot pursuit....not thinking about the fact that he was in full MP uniform...white belt, white gloves, white hat and all. Springing over the barbed wire fence separating the field from the road he encountered his first snag.....in reality...he tore his pants on one of the barbs in the fence. Undaunted, he continued in his determined course. This course led him through two fields (and over two more fences) and eventually to a third fence. Being a bit tired by now, he decided instead of trying to vault over another fence, he would scramble up a pile of dirt that was near the fence to assist him in making the crossing. Taking a quick hop to the top of the mound, he immediately sunk to his thighs in cow manure, uniform and all. Taking stock, he figured it couldn't get any worse so he waded out of the aromatic muck and climbed over the fence. He was determined to find and help the injured dog. After all, these were probably some body's pets and he wanted to make sure that at least one survived. So, off he raced into the night.
The chase finally lead to the yard of a farm house. Upon his arrival, the injured dog, not understanding John's desire to help, immediately sounded the alarm as only a hound dog can. Moments later, before John could calm the dog in order to survey the damage it had incurred, he was confronted with an angry, pajama clad farmer armed with a double barrel shot gun pointed menacingly at John's chest. Finally willing to accept defeat, John simply raised his hands, turned and returned by the path in which he had come. He arrived at his post late and had barely made it in the door when his superior ordered another MP to take John, smelling heavily of the farm, outside and hose him down. Not understood by the dog, not understood by the farmer and not much appreciated by his superiors; John's night was complete. I'll not bore you with a long consideration of the moral here....I think you can come up with one..............................Later
PS: I must be suffering from some form of Beatlebrania....today I'm stuck on Norwegian Wood!
Not done yet!
3 years ago