A tale from Martine's childhood

Hi Val, here is another piece for tag if you like it. I' m on the phone with my mum every day, you know, making sure she is alright and she loves me  sharing what is going on with our lives, so I make sure I take the time to share with her. As we get  old, life shrinks doesn't it and what becomes important is to be held by the hand and cared for by  our loved ones. I try to do that with her. When I reminded her of the story below she had such a  laugh. Of course she remembered.... About a boy and his bird I was in my teens and it was early summer, maybe June. One afternoon I saw this boy, slowly   pushing his bike up our drive. Not before he approached our front door did  I recognize him .   Bernard? he was a childhood class mate I hadn’t seen for years. I was a bit surprised. What was he  doing here? How did he know I lived here? We had very few young cycling visitors being 6 km  from town, and with 200 meters of a very steep drive that made it impossible to stay on a bike.  Bernard had a cardboard box on the back of his bike. He told me he was going on holiday and  was looking for a home for his hen and would I care to look after her while he was away?  She was his pet, living mainly in his bedroom, and very tame she was. I was so envious of him  in that moment for being someone who was allowed animals in his bedroom…me, I had to  smuggle my hamsters and kittens when no-one was looking, which wasn’t easy. When my mum  came and kiss us good night every night , she always found out…and my little protégés had to be  taken back out pretty much straight away…. We’ll look after her, I said to Bernard, and when my  mum came out of the house and heard the request she said to put it with the others in the chicken  pen. Summer went by and here was Bernard, coming back for his hen. He was a good looking  boy,  with a thick mass of bleached blond mad hair and blue eyes and he was all tanned. We went to look  for his pet and we looked high and low, in and out and all around the chicken pen, but no hen  anywhere…I asked my mum, do you know where Bernard’s hen is Mum? No she said, I  don’t….and then she thought for a minute. Oh…she said, we had chicken for lunch a  couple of  weeks ago. I went into the pen to chose one and they all scattered away as  hens do but  not that one….  Poor Bernard….I didn’t see him again until I bumped into him. I was 18.  And that’s another story. comments to taglines82@gmail.com