Cornucopia: Blind Blooper: Visiting the Vet

Blind Blooper

By Kate Chamberlin

   My husband and I needed to take my guide dog in for her annual vet check-up. We brought along our 3-year-old and 5-year-old boys with us.

   They were busy visiting with other people and their pets in the vet’s waiting room. They’d ask about the pet, then, come sit next to me. Someone new would come in and they’d be off to see the new pet.

   When one of them sat, touching my hip, I felt his shirt was not tucked in.  I started to tuck it into his belt when a man’s voice said: “’Excuse me?”

   “Oh, you’re not my son!” I chuckled, turning crimson, apologizing to the stranger who had unknowingly taken my son’s place.

Cornucopia: Hurricane Hazel, memoir

Hurricane Hazel (360 words)

By Kate Chamberlin

Hurricane Hazel, between October 5 and 16,  was the deadliest and costliest hurricane of the 1954 hurricane season and was the strongest and only Category 4 hurricane to ever hit the North Carolina coast, at that time.

I would have been nine-years old then and I remember it for two reasons.  We were living in Cedarcroft, Kennett Square, Pennsylvania in a ranch-style home. The bedrooms were on one end of the home and the kitchen on the other end.  The living room in the middle, had a, to mee, huge, open, brick fireplace.

When Hurricane Hazel started to bend the deciduous trees in the dense woods behind our home, my Dad took my 12-year old brother and me by our hands and walked to the top of Symington’s  hill overlooking the meadow where we’d go sledding in the winter.  If the three of us hadn’t been holding on to each other, one of us would have been knocked down to swirl around with the leaves at our feet.  The strength of the winds is what has remained with me all these decades.

While we trekked home, the wind knocked out the electricity in our neighborhood.  Dad lit a fire in the big fireplace for warmth and light. The four of us plus our St. Bernard mix dog Prince all sat together in companionable silence, listening to the wind howl around our snug home and peering at the dancing flames. Then, we heard our terrified cat, Thanatopsis,  meowing to come in, too.  He wasn’t as terrified as the small, drenched bunny he had in his mouth.

He dropped the little bunny in front of the fireplace. It happened to be near the paws of Prince, who looked at it with great interest.  After watching the bunny for a time, the cat went to pick it back up.  Prince growled at him and drew the bunny toward his chest with his chin. Thanatopsis sulked into another part of the house. It was the only time we ever heard Prince growl.

I’ve lived through many storms, cats, and dogs, but those two memories of the wind’s strength and our dog’s compassion remain sharp and clear.

“Magnets and Ladders: 2023Fall/Winter Issue