Waiting on Grampa

By Karl Krahn

As advanced as this world seems to be, it's main controlling
factor is time. We think, because mankind will speed up it's
time as fast as possible, there's no limit. We are a people
that started our lives in a cave and hunting most meals
on the hoof. Today, instant is not fast enough. We have
out grown our fear of need and time is everything. In
pocket westerns you could travel city to city in one
paragraph. No mention of the trip.
Now I would like to introduce you to a
society that has a different outlook on
time. Where food is the drive of life and
control is everything.
This is a true story.
Welcome to my world.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Oct 17, 2013
• ISBN: 9781493113163

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Copyright © 2013 by Karl Krahn.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

Rev. date: 10/10/2013

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. . . One afternoon while setting on my back porch, I was surprised with a visit from a very large black bird. As he flew over the porch, he made a couple of loud calls. Without thinking I answered with the best imitation I could make.

. . . He turned and started circling my house. I didn’t want to miss this chance, so I ran into the kitchen and grabbed a couple of wieners. I broke them into 10 pieces and threw them on a clear spot in my back yard.

. . . He had landed in a tall pine and finally came for lunch. Being as careful as possible, he took 6 pieces and flew back to the top of the pine. Then another surprise. A second bird landed on my Joshua tree and checked out the wieners. It was his mate. She ate the last 4 and joined him in the pine.

. . . This turned into a daily routine. Sometimes they turned their meal into an outing, a couple of walks around the back yard and a short rest on our old stump. This gave me a chance to look over my new friends.

. . . He looked very old. He was still a kind of shiny black, but now all the gloss was gone. Standing beside his young, glossy black mate, it was strange to see the contrast. I started calling him Grampa.

. . . Being partly crippled in his left foot, he used his left wing to help balance and walk. But his crutch had a price. The feathers were worn down and you could see by his actions, he was bearing pain. Arthritis? As the real reason came to light, it’s where the story begins.

. . . Then I noticed something that seemed out of place. Every time I fed