Dear Mister Ed

You recall how last week I was tellin’ you how I sowed up a mess of bootys fer the poor swans coolin’ there heals down at March Lake? So much fer the best-layed plans.

When I ast Merna, the bird lady down the road, if she wud help with the installin’ part, she laffed fit to bust a stitch.

Can’t do that, she says. Bird feet is diff’rent from ours and don’t feel cold the same way. They got some kinda anti-freeze in there vanes, or some such.

Besides, she says, the guvamint folks cud get rite snarly if we was to try gettin’ up close and personnel to the birds, lest we set ’em off there main job of feedin’ and breedin’.

So Darrol, gimme a call if you run into some one who can use a few hunderd nose warmers next winter. They mite also be usefull as Chrissmas stockin’s fer kids that ain’t been so good all year.

Speakin’ of kids, I learnt a few things about Wilferd and Merna’s kids, Moon Unit and The Dweeb, that has me eatin’ humble-berry pie.

Wilferd runs a shop fixin’ cars on the Carcass Road, and he has a boat in Skaggway to get away from it all. Last week he closed the shop down fer a few days to go spiffy up his boat a bit, and he ast me along fer the ride.

Now I had plans to buck up few logs in case the whether turns again, but was’nt much lookin’ foreward to it, thanks to a spell of the old lumbaygo. So I ast Wilferd if he knowed any one who mite like to make a few bucks.

Straitaway he says “Danny’s yer man.” Meanin’ The Dweeb.

Truth to tell, I had my douts. The lad is but 14 or so, and I ownly ever seen him slumpin’ around with his pants haffways to his anckles, and wires comin’ out his ears from that eye-pod thingy. But I cudn’t ritely say no to Wilferd.

By golly, did I get a surprize when we got back. Not only did he buck up twice as much as what I expeckted, he split ‘er all up and even loaded up my kindlin’ box.

To top it all off, he went and brushed out my chimbly, and wud’nt take a penny more than what we talked about.

But that’s jest the part of it. Plunk in the middle of my kitchen table was two fats loafs of bread and a pot of blueberry jam.

When I went over to thank Merna she said it were’nt her, but young Moon Unit – or Maralyn, to give her proper name. Turns out she loves to make bread, speshually in a wood stove like what I got.

She made the jam last summer from berrys she picked herself.

Now that there is a cupple of reel nice kids. As Momma wud say, you can’t read a book by lookin’ at the cover.

Yer pal,

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