Their Sisters

Aunt Kathryn said salt and sugar shot out of Dutch show chickens inhabiting the golf course since before she was born, since before the war before she was born, and before golf was invented.

Every Sunday, the strongest boy with the smallest hands shoved pellets of imported grass and gravel down their gullets. The problem was, when laughing and lights from night parties woke the chickens up, they marched into the ballroom and climbed up peoples’ pants and pantyhose, onto their laps, and flew at their heads… 

Or was it Aunt Marilyn? “They seemed like bikers, but their growing brains just wanted to party”? Oh, that’s a Marilyn statement, all the way. That just. In Marilyn’s stories, animals always won. If they lost, she’d slash your tires, and she was an excellentgolfer.

In Kathryn’s stories, she’d bred Fluffy Dutchers all her life. And her father’s father’s father. Here’s a photo of three she defaced with her initials. Salt was for packing wounds— sugar, too (see “Sugarfoot K.E.K.”)—before, during, and after wars—and to make War Pickles, dipped in iffy cream.