Pork Chops Anyone?

Although farmer Grady’s life was no wheel of fortune, he and his wife had loved farming for the past 50 years. They had raised mostly chickens, pigs, and sheep, but their old bodies could no longer withstand the arduous task of gathering eggs, slopping pigs, and shearing the sheep. Besides, Grady’s eyesight had all but winked out, so he sold off most of the animals, slaughtered a few for meat, and then packaged them into the freezer.

Grady skipped breakfast and went to the barn to clean up and put away the tools he would no longer need. He fed the few chickens he and his wife agreed upon. What surprised him was that he could hear Norma, the pig he was sure he butchered yesterday. He remembered the squeals and screams; perhaps it was a different pig. It didn’t matter. He fed her some leftover grain from the burlap sack. Jingles, the cat, snaked between his legs. He knew it was the calico cat because of the bell his wife had put around her neck so Grady wouldn’t mistake her for a chicken.

It was late afternoon when Grady made his way back to the house. It took him awhile to find the entrance, and then he tripped on the only step to the door.

“Francine? Honey, where are you?” He called again. Silence. “Did you make lunch?” Grady shuffled to the kitchen. He opened the freezer and strained to identify the packages.

“Shut the door you ole fool.”

“Who’s that?”

“Me, now shut the door.”

“Where are you?” He looked around.

“In here – because you sliced and diced me.”

“Francine…get out of there.”

“Would if I could you blind ass.”

“I’m looking for pork chops.”

“Well, I’m a frozen dinner now, so bon appetite.”


Word Count: 297