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Old Technology Meets New Technology Old Technology Meets New Technology
by Leah Sellers
2016-06-01 09:57:03
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“Gol’ dang it, Theodore Joseph !  Get that gol’ durned Drone out of the Barn.  Right now, young man !”  Mr. Hopper hollered at his distracted Son.
 
No sooner than Mr. Hopper hopped all over his errant teen-ager, a flock of eight chickens flew hither and dither out of the Barn’s wide open back doors squawking and fussing about the strange featherless Flying Creature terrorizing them out of their usual afternoon henpecking domain.
 
“No wonder your Mama’s Layin’ Hens have stopped layin’,”  Mr. Hopper continued hollering.  “I mean it, T.J..  Get that Machine outta’ the Barn.  I told you to fly that cock-a-mamey thing out at the bottom of the Field.  Away from the House, away from the Barn and away from all of the Critters, gol’ dang it !”
 
tech01_400_01“Alright, Dad.  But how else am I gonna’ learn how to fly my Drone if I don’t practice every chance I get ?”  Theodore Joseph asked plaintively.
 
“I sent you up to the Barn to load hay into the back of the pick-up for the Cows and Horses, Boy.  And don’t you back-talk me.”  Mr. Hopper snapped.
 
“Turn that Nuisance-of-a-Machine off, and finish your chores.  We have more important things to attend to around here.”  Mr. Hopper reprimanded.  “You’re makin’ me regret that I ever bought that Contraption for you for your Birthday, last week, T.J.”
 
“Martha Lynn ?  Where are you girl ?  Are you in that Barn with your
brother ?
 
Martha Lynn, a rollicking eight year old, stuck her head out of the Barn’s front double-wide old wooden doors.  “Yes sir.  T.J. was showin’ me some of the new maneuvers he can do with his Drone, Daddy. “
 
“We didn’t really pay attention to the chickens bein’ in here until the Drone accidentally bumped into one of the hens, and scared the poop right out of  her, and sent the rest of ’em cluckin’ and flyin’ out the back of the Barn.  Please, forgive us, Daddy,”  Martha Lynn said pleadingly.
 
“T.J. where have you got that Drone headed off to now ?”  Mr. Hopper asked loudly.
 
“Wait !  Wait !”  Mr. Hopper shouted, waving his hands around in the air as if to stop the Drone zipping over his head, and toward the Milk Cows recently gathered into the paddock.
 
“Gol’ durn it, Boy !  You are undoin’ all of your Mama’s Happy Cow Experiences for her Milkin’ Cows !”  Mr. Hopper yelled as he ran toward the herd of agitated and mooing Milk Cows.
 
“Brrrrrrrpt !  Whizzzzzz !  Ziiiiippppp !  Whiiiiirrrrrrr !  Whiiiiiirrrrrr !”
 
“T.J. you are stampedin’ your Mama’s Happy Cows !”  Mr. Hopper warned as he jumped up onto the fence, and tried to catch the Drone before it reached the herd.
 
Martha Lynn, running up beside her Daddy to give him her verbal support (if nothing else) reiterated, “Mama is always sayin’ that a Happy Cow gives Happy Milk and Sweet Cream.  That’s why she’s always playin’ Classical Music to ‘em while they’re bein’ milked on the machines.”
 
“She almost had a caniption fit one day when she came out to the Stables and caught me dancin’ and singin’ to the old rock-n-roll song, ‘Born to Be Wild‘.”
 
“I thought that it would be alright to play it to the Cows because it was a golden oldie, and it sure made me Happy to dance and sing to it after I hooked all of the Cows up to the Milkin’ machines.  But noooo…”
 
“Don’t you sass your Mama, Martha Lynn.”  Mr. Hopper chided.  “I don’t give much account to all of her Happy Cow and Happy Chicken and Happy Goat, and Happy this-or-that Critter for the most part.  But I do appreciate her tryin’ out new things to make our Farm more Productive and Lucrative.”
 
“You give your Mama the Respect she’s due for her Sweet Spirit and for all of her Hard Work around here and for all of us, Young Lady, or I’ll wash your mouth out with soap,”  Mr. Hopper added.
 
“Yes Daddy.  I’m sorry.  And could we switch to Ivory soap, Daddy.  I hate the taste of that ‘ole Palmolive soap,”  Martha responded quickly.
 
“T.J. !  Boy, you get that Drone outta’ the sky right now or I’ll take care of it for ya’ !”  Mr. Hopper said as he dismounted the fence, and ran toward the spooked Milk Cows.
 
“Hey, Dad.  Do you think that the Cows’ Happy Milk will turn into whipped cream and cottage cheese the more they run around and around with those full bags ?”  T.J. laughed as he tried to get his Drone to do what he wanted it to do.
 
T.J. continued to dip and sway and zip his Drone over the heads and into the buttocks’ of his Mama’s Happy Milk Cows as he and Martha Lynn howled with mirth.
 
“Hey Dad, just imagine what an Army of these Drones could do loaded up with firin’ machine guns or explodin’ bombs !  They’d be like a horde of angry hornets zippin’ and explodin’ everything they came in contact with.  Just the sight of ’em would be overwhelmin’.  I mean, like, which Drone would you take down first ?  Or maybe they’ve invented some kind of UnKnown Machine that with one push of a button all of the Angry Drones would drop like rocks out of the skies.  What a blast that would be watch,”  T.J. mused.
 
“T.J. you are talkin’ to an Iraq Vet, son.  And your twisted ideas of what would be a blast or not be blast are givin’ me a blisterin’ heart-burn, “  Mr. Hopper growled.
 
“Oh Dad, you’re just old-fashioned when it comes to new technologies.  You don’t even have a Facebook account,”  T.J. teased.
 
“Daddy, I didn’t know that you were A Rock Veterinarian.  Is that why you go along with all of Mama‘s Happy Critter stuff ?”  Martha Lynn queried.
 
“Remember my kitty-cat Pet Rock, George ?  I made him, in kindy-garten,”  Martha Lynn fondly reminisced.
 
“I’m not A Rock Veterinarian, Martha Lynn.  And yes, I remember, George.  I still use him as a paper weight in my office.”
 
“I am a Marine Veteran.  And I go along with all of your Mama’s Happy Critter stuff, because I Love her, and I agree with her premise.”
 
“If Animals are Happy they produce Happy Chemicals inside their bodies.  If they’re UnHappy, they produce UnHappy Toxins inside their bodies.  Human Bein’s are much the same,”  Mr. Hopper explained.
 
“So, that’s why, even though I prefer Johnny Cash and Willie Nelson, I listen to ‘ole Beethoven, Bach and De-Busey while I’m Milkin’ the Cows,”  Mr. Hopper confessed.
 
“Uh, Dad, that’s Debussy, not De-Busey,”  corrected Thomas Joseph as his Drone droned ever onward overhead.
 
“Daddy, do Marine Veterans swim in the ocean with the dolphins ?  Can I be a Marine Veteran when I grow up ?”  Martha Lynn asked.  “I would just love to have a Pet Dolphin.”  Martha Lynn added.
 
Mr. Hopper smiled warmly at his little one, and said,  “Martha Lynn, you are a wonder, Baby Girl.”
 
Martha Lynn hugged her Daddy’s legs tightly, and looking up at him with a big smile said, “Thank you, Daddy.  And you are my Wonder-Daddy.” 
 
While T.J. was talking, and busying himself with frightening his Mama’s Not-So-Happy-Happy Cows around the paddock with his zig-zagging Drone as Martha Lynn looked on in fascination, Mr. Hopper eased out of his Baby Girl’s hug, and strode deliberately to his tool shed and pulled one of his most reliable tools out of its dusty depths.
 
“Ka-blaaammm !”
 
T.J’s miscreant Drone was blown to smithereens.  Everyone watched in silence as the smoke cleared the air, and the vaporized Drone’s bits and pieces fell out of the sky and scattered to the ground.
 
Mr. Hopper tucked his double-barreled shot gun under his arm, and with a sideways grin said, “Old technology meets new technology.” 
 
“T. J., you clean up all of this mess and take good care of All of your Mama’s Happy Critters until every stitch of the work that needs to get done Is Done.”
 
“Your Mama, Martha Lynn and I are goin’ to start dinner without you Mister Dronester,”  Mr. Hopper added as he turned and started back up to the House with Martha Lynn in hand.  “Join us when you can.  If you’re lucky, we’ll save you some of that homemade buttermilk pie your Mama put together for everybody this afternoon.”
 
“Now, I call that gittin’ your Just Desserts, young’un, ha !”  Mr. Hopper laughed outright.  “And you can put that into your little Facebook account and stoke it.”


     
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