Whisky's Tale

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His name was Willie. At least, that's what he started out life as.

     Willie's younger years weren't very pretty. His parents had both been killed at a young age and his siblings had been scattered.  His only known family, was his brother Orlando. Orlando was kind. Unlike his brother Willie who, as he grew up, developed an ever increasing bad attitude. Both had their own issues and their own ways of coping with them. Willie, had turned to fighting.  As time went on, Willie and Orlando's step-parents decided that they just couldn't keep the boys any longer. The neighbors were complaining about the noise at all hours of the night, and after Willie had attacked his step dad one night, the decision was made to give the boys away.

     Orlando was given a home in the same town with a family who had room to grow. And grow, they did. Orlando was at peace at last...and home.  Willie, on the other hand, was given to a family in the next state. There was no going home after that. Although the family had a small farm and plenty of space to explore and play, Willie wasn't happy.  The family who took Willie in tried to make things easier for Willie. They brought him friends to play with...gave him a bigger bedroom with lots of space...he never went hungry and always had something cool to drink. His foster dad even changed his name so Willie wouldn't have to remember being his former self. You would think that would be a good start.  But not for Willie. As time went on, he still got angrier and angrier. He would attack his friends almost daily. His new foster dad tried to be patient, but started having doubts about it all after Willie had attacked his wife one night at dinner.

 

     It all ended yesterday. Willie was out playing in the yard with his friends. His foster dad was doing odd chores around the farm. Nothing big, just this or that.... while, he too, had friends over. His foster dad had friends who come in every year to relax on the farm and enjoy each others company. It had become a tradition and it was a generally happy occasion.  As the dusk began to fade into evening, Willie's foster dad went to his room to make sure Willie and his friends were fed and happy, and to let them know that it would be time for bed soon. That's when Willie made his mistake.

     As the feeding began, Willie struck by surprise. Screaming loudly, Willie jumped on his foster dad, raking his spur across the back of his leg in a glancing blow. As the foster dad, whom we'll call "Marc", turned to see what was going on, Willie struck again.  This time, Willie, the "bad seed" given a second chance at life and living a life of relative comfort under the assumed name of "Whisky" had found his mark. With another loud scream, Whisky launched himself at Marc, sinking his bony spur deep into the calf muscle and through a large vein.

     Marc kicked at him, catching him in the chest and knocking him backwards and out of the coop. They both hesitated. Whisky had been caught full force and was dazed by the blow. Marc stood in the doorway of the coop, waiting for Whisky's next move...when he noticed an odd feeling on his leg.  It was almost as if someone were pouring water on it. As he took a moment to glance down, he noticed a stream of blood shooting out of his leg in a horizontal direction until it splashed to a stop only by the fact that it was hitting his other leg, like a garden hose nozzle turned towards a brick wall.....which is the sensation that Marc had felt.

     Clamping his hand around to stream of blood pumping out of his calf, Marc yelled to his companions to get a med kit as he hobbled up the hill towards them. Once he reached the safety of their numbers, they helped him to a chair on the porch. He was white as a sheet and in a lot of pain. Willie had made only a small hole, but it had apparently done a lot of damage.

     As Marc's friends began to work on his wound, Marc had slowly slipped into a form of shock, sweating profusely and passing out, probably from the sudden change in blood pressure. As the evening wore on, his friends kept applying cold compresses and made sure that nothing more would happen to him.
He needed to re-start his super healing powers, which had been switched off since the injury to his hand was healing so well. Rapid healing takes energy and its not something you leave on all the time. His body was going back and forth between cold chills and almost violent shivering, to more sweating profusely and needing ice packs applied to his neck and forehead.

     After a soak in a strictly controlled bath with perfect and almost instant heat adjustments, Marc began to feel more like himself. Humbled by embarrassment and still dizzy from shock, he fought to stay awake each time the wave of pain would hit. A large bowl of apple cobbler and some vanilla ice cream, along with taking short cat naps in front of the fire seemed to be the most effective method of getting his body system to calm down and analyze any damaged systems which may have previously been overlooked.

     Finally, the fire had dwindled and it was time for bed. With a last glance towards Whisky and a silent promise to himself that something like that would never happen again, he took the arms of his companions and limped along as they helped him back to the house.....