The Farm

Every story needs a villain. 

Bonnie, wild eyes searching for her next victim. Bonnie with her huge teeth. Bonnie with her sharp claws. Bonnie wasn’t ever able to hold her licker. She had an absolute inability to submit to any sort of authority. If Bonnie saw you coming, she would lock eyes and with unbridled enthusiasm come full tilt and knock you flat on your ass. Mothers warned young children “If you see Bonnie, cross the street”. Bonnie was an overly enthusiastic puppy, and not all the villain of this story, at least not to the children. 

As Bonnie grew from enthusiastic puppy, to a very large enthusiastic dog, the adults on the Cul de sac just couldn’t abide by her untamed ways. Bonnie had been tolerated when she was little, and didn’t know any better. But now that she was bigger, and still didn’t know any better, Bonnie was a liability. 

So, one evening, way past our bedtime,  adults held council and it was determined that Bonnie had to go. When we asked, in our Kindergarten innocence, where had Bonnie gone? Why wasn’t our bouncy friend out for a play? We were told, matter of factly, Bonnie had gone to the farm.   

I had loved Bonnie. Her wild eyes held a sparkle of joy. Her gleaming white teeth that could puncture any toy! She was always up for a slobbery game of tug of war. Bonnie was the most fun dog I had ever met. She lived life large! And now she was gone to “the farm”.

I wasn’t entirely certain that Bonnie had gone to an actual farm, but I understood the permanence  of what had happened to my bouncy friend. Bonnie was gone, never to come back. 

Well, every story needs a villain. As the summer turned to fall, the children of the Cul de Sac were rounded up and led to Glen Cedar School for children.  Many of us had fond experiences from our Kindergarten year with Ms. Rhubarb. Ms. Rhubarb was the kind of teacher who loved her students, and her care we blossomed. If you had to be in school all day, at least you go to spend it under the absolute glowing gaze of Ms. Rhubarb. There were worse things! 

Worst things like Ms.Champ; The Grade One teacher at Glen Cedar School. First impressions of Ms Champ were not positive. She was old. Atl least 39 or 100 years old. Old just not in age,but in a way that has lost all joy.  She wore a green panty hose, the color of stagnant swamp water. Everything else she wore were shades of  black. Drab black littered with cat hair.  Between her clenched fingers, she held a cigarette. Bright red lipstick smeared on the end. Lipstick or blood. More than likely the latter. She smelled strongly of onions. On her face, a scowl. I was pretty sure that the only reason she was in the school was to make the lives of children absolutely miserable. What had we done to deserve this?  

As parents dropped us off for this first day of school, it was all quick hugs and goodbye kisses. By the squealing tires from the parking lot, and hurried glances cast over shoulders, it was obvious that even the Moms and Dads didn’t want to linger under the glare of Ms. Champ. 

Up to this point, my life had been very idyllic. I had never come face to face with evil before.  So I stared at her in complete innocence. Mouth agape. Total shock. 

Ms Champ walked right up to me, so close that my eyes watered from the onion and cigarette smell. She leaned over me and breathed hoarsely in my face, 

“If the wind changes your face will stay that way” she threatened. 

“Is that what happened to you?” I asked innocently. 

BUZZZZZZZZZZZ. 

The school bell rang signaling the official start of Grade 1. I had already made an enemy.   

Time passed slowly under the tortuous tutelage of Ms. Champ. While we laboured to learn how to spell “Mom” and ”Help” she would stalk the aisles, blowing the hot stench of onion scented breath on us.  

I would pass the days, starring out the window. Thinking of better scenarios. 

A dragon swooping down from the clouds to carry off Ms. Champ. Her onion scent would make an ideal garnish to his dragon feast!  

Or that a tornado would come,and scoop her up. Twisting and turning as she screamed out insults and homework assignments as she was carried away.
 
Or that the principal would come in, informing us that Mrs. Rhubarb had worked hard in KIndergarten and been promoted to Grade 1 with us!  
A boy can dream!

“Kevin, Kevin, KEVIN!?! ARE YOU EVEN LISTENING!” Ms. Champ's shrill voice snapped me back to reality. 

“No” I replied. 

“Well, you are going to the farm with the rest of us” Ms. Champ glared as she passed me a paper. “Bring this back signed tomorrow. Or else”

I reluctantly took the paper, and put it in my backpack. 

After school, all everyone could talk about was going to the farm. 

“I want to see kittens,” said Jennifer B. 

“I hope we see cows!” chimed in Jennifer C. 

“I want to see a tractor" shouted Colin. 

“I just want to see some baby pigs,” said Jennifer S. 

"Jennifers, Colin, EVERYBODY!” I was practically shouting “We can’t go to the farm! Bad things happen to good people at the farm!”
I told them all about my friend Bonnie. Happy go lucky Bonnie, with her whole life ahead of her. Then FARM. 

"I want to see a tractor before I die" said Colin. 

It was obvious that Ms. Champ was planning to get rid of us. Haul all of us off to the farm, then should spend the rest of her days not having to deal with our whining and asking questions. 

At home, I begged and pleaded with my parents. I tried having a stomach ache, then I really did have a stomach ache. I whined and pleaded my 
case until I was blue in the face. 

“We can’t go to the farm, we will be done for!”

“Ms. Champ hates kids! She wants us dead!”

I’m sure they didn’t believe that Ms. Champ was really plotting to do away with all of us, but by the next morning, they were so sick and tired of the Kevin show, they were no doubt holding onto a small glimmer of hope that Ms. Champ did indeed have some nefarious plans. 

So, I was unceremoniously dumped off at school. Right in front of a huge yellow school bus. And there, clad all in black and cat hair, armed with a sneer and a clipboard stood Ms. Champ. 

Sadly, every Grade One student fromGlen Cedar School for Children filed onto the bus. Heads hung low. A few of the braver Jennifers cast a quick glance over their shoulders to the parents. One last look. 

With a long draw on her cigarette, Ms. Champ gave one last glance over her clipboard and climbed the stairs onto the bus. The door swung shut behind her.

Excited parents lined the sidewalk waving us a final good-bye.”Good luck” they called. 

As the wheels rolled down the road, tears began to roll down the faces of my classmates.  We were headed to the farm. 

The End