Oh, The Roads of Ballyheane

(9/21/14)

In the wanderings of western Ireland, during a weekend of staying with an Irish family, the Flynns, Roxy, their pup , tagged along on our walk and minded us just fine but until the end. In a bout of extreme excitement, she abandoned us to gallop at some cooped up chickens, causing the sincerest distress among them, and she was deaf to our cries to heed. Hearing the commotion, Farmer Michael came striding out of the house, old in the face but young and sturdy in heart, with weathered jeans brushing the tips of recently shined black laced shoes, plaid shirt tucked in and his strands of hair wasping on his head, coming down by his large but friendly ears and a bit on his lined forehead, but did not quite reach to his old, crinkly, smiling blue eyes, two glinting windows divided by a large quite purply red nose fixed to the middle of his face, below which rested a soft County Mhaigh Eo mouth, ready with a quip and quick to display a smile. He walked with an assured confidence, only bolstered by the sturdy stick gripped in his hand, elegantly gnarled at the bottom, with which he swashed the air to and fro as he approached the poor pup. The dog warily abandoned her chicken fun, and lost herself in some border bushes, which not only failed to deter Michael, but in fact urged him into a run after the pup, and Roxy burst forth and cantered into her kennel back home. A few moments later out sauntered Michael, flushed with success and standing tall, yet with a slight bend to his back, and cheerfully commenting, “oooh what a bitch she is”.