During the 17 years we lived on the farm at Royston there were a number of other stories, some good, and some not so good.
Wes Kennedy and his family lived about a mile northeast of Royston and they had three big dogs that had the bad habit of chasing automobiles and barking and snapping at the front wheels. The dogs chased the family car the same as they did strange cars which passed by along the road. Wes tried every way he knew to break the dogs from the bad habit, but every effort had failed.
Now the story goes that one member of the Royston Spit-and- Whittle Club suggested that he tie a burlap bag to the spokes of his front wheels. As the dogs snapped at the wheels, they were supposed to get their teeth caught in the burlap, this would hurt their teeth and break them from chasing cars.
They say Wes was anxious to try it, so he tied a potato sack to one front wheel and drove right on home. As usual the three dogs came out to meet him, growling and snapping at the turning wheels, and the scheme really worked. The dog that snapped the spinning sack never chased another car as long as he lived—which was about five seconds. You see, dogs with broken necks seldom chase cars. Oh well, they still had two big dogs and that was enough for the whole family.
Wes and his wife also had quite a few boys and girls, a lot of little ones and at least one big one—a girl. I was told that there was a difference of opinion as to just how big the girl really was. Wes thought of her as just a little girl, but she thought she was big enough to go with the boys. And her mother, having been a girl once herself, sort of agreed with the girl. Since her dad objected so vigorously, the girl, with the aid of her mother, devised a little scheme which was designed to satisfy the girl and yet not be too painful to her father, especially since he was not to know what was taking place. Anyway, the way I heard it, the kids were hoeing cotton one particular afternoon—who knows how many kids, maybe eight, maybe ten, anyway enough that one girl more or less would hardly be noticed by a father who was often busy at some other job which in most cases was easier than hoeing cotton.
The cotton rows butted up against a county road about a half-mile from the house. And in the weeds along the road ditch was a perfect place for the girl to hide a paper bag full of her clean clothes. And after sundown was a perfect time for her to exchange her hoe for that bag of clothes. So, when the other kids put down their hoes for the night, Wes didn't count kids and didn't notice that the big girl was missing. She had hoed to the far end of the rows and had not returned with the others on that last round after sundown.
Meanwhile, the girl's prince charming didn't carry her away on his white steed, but rather in his black Model A Ford. She kept her date with her boy and then spent the night with her girl friend. Next morning the girl, dressed again in her work clothes, picked up her hoe at the far end of the cotton rows and joined her brothers and sisters in the field on their first round of hoeing. No one ever told her dad about the incident, so he lived happily ever after.
In those days, when I wasn't too busy farming, I earned a little money at other things. I did road work for Fisher County quite a few months one year. One day I was hauling caliche in the county truck to fill in holes in the road by a bridge. When I was hauling my last load for the day, I was not in any particular hurry, so I stopped by my home to let Dennis and Anita go with me. I wanted them to get a lot of experience at a lot of different things, as I had done when I was a boy. I didn't want them to grow up in ignorance. There were times, I'm sure, Ima wondered whether I wanted them to grow up at all. Well this was one of those occasions. I was glad Ima wasn't along.
The kids played around while I unloaded the truck. And after I had finished my work, I took one of the sideboards from the truck, which was a two-by-eight twelve feet long, and I placed it across the buttment of the bridge. With me on one end and the kids on the other, I could see-saw them up and down and they could splash their feet in the water. What could be more fun to a three-year-old and a five-year-old? We had fun and all went well until time to load up and go home.
Dennis was out on the end of the board and I told him to sit still and let Anita get up first and come to me out on the road, then it would be his turn. Well, Anita got up and was walking toward me when Dennis decided he wanted to be first. Nothing I could do or say would make him change his mind. I just couldn't get him to sit that extra few seconds. He got to his feet and tried to pass Anita on the eight-inch board. And of course, since Dennis was biggest, Anita went off into the water—head first. I couldn't turn loose of the board quickly and jump in after her; I had to hold on while Dennis came on out and got off the board. By this time Anita had come up again and I lowered the board to her. She crawled upon it and came out with mud in both hands and was laughing. Excitedly she said, "Daddy, me pick up mud mit me hands."