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    Angel on My Shoulder: The Flying Kid
    Angel on My Shoulder: The Flying Kid
    Angel on My Shoulder: The Flying Kid
    Ebook81 pages47 minutes

    Angel on My Shoulder: The Flying Kid

    By Keith Bowes

    ()

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    About this ebook

    I was born and raised on my dad's family farm in Portage la Prairie,
    Manitoba. At twenty years of age, I flew into the North and started
    a small airline business. The next two and a half
    years of flying in the bush included enough harrowing close calls, but I'm still here thanks to
    the "Angel on My Shoulder."
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherWord Alive Press
    Release dateMar 17, 2017
    ISBN9781486614592
    Angel on My Shoulder: The Flying Kid

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      Book preview

      Angel on My Shoulder - Keith Bowes

      one

      Earliest Memories

      KB. That’s what I’ve been called all my life. KB, that’s me

      My first memory of anything in this world is listening from an upstairs bedroom, hearing good, old-time music drifting up the stairway at this old farmhouse where Dad and Mom were at a country dance. Dad would be down there playing the banjo, Uncle George would be on the violin, someone else would be playing on a piano, and in the background you would hear people dancing, talking, laughing, and so on. To me there is no better sound than that, and it’s still stamped in my head today.

      From my early days, I also remember that I had the bad habit of following right at the heels of old Dolly, an old grey mare from Dad’s herd. Dolly didn’t like this at all, and decided to give me a good swift kick in the face—the front tip of her hoof caught me just between my right eye and eyebrow. The scar is still there 87 years later. A close call. If that hoof had landed half an inch lower I wouldn’t have an eye. I can’t help but think that my Angel made sure that it didn’t happen. How do you thank an angel enough?

      It seems that I didn’t learn my lesson from her first kick, so Dolly, like a good teacher, remedied that shortly afterward by giving me another really solid kick, square in my face. I’m sure she figured that little three-year-old boy wouldn’t forget this time. The result was a flat face; Mom said I was unrecognizable because of the mass of blood and dirt. But thanks again, Angel, because it could have been a lot worse.

      The next incident was a little while later. As far as I can remember I was four years old, maybe five, but it was before I started school. Dad had his outfit at a neighbour’s farm, custom threshing. There were about three or four grain wagons, each with a team of horses, to take the grain from the threshing machine to the grainery at the farmyard. There would always be one, two or three wagons waiting in line to pull up under the grain spout of the thresher, where they would be loaded.

      It must have been pretty tiring for a little boy hanging around a threshing outfit on a hot, lazy summer day. Accordingly, I decided a little siesta was in order. So I snuck into one of the wagons waiting in line to be loaded. The clean, flat floor in its grain box was the only place in the threshing outfit where a guy could lie down and catch a little sleep.

      When that grain wagon’s turn to be loaded came, it pulled up under the grain spout and started filling up. About this time, Dad suddenly realized that Keith wasn’t anywhere to be found. I’m quite sure he was the one who thought to look into the wagon box that was filling up with grain.

      There I was, lying on the floor of the grain box. They say the grain was already creeping over me, but I was having a nice sound sleep. A few more minutes and I would have become a statistic. I’m convinced that Angel had a hand in not letting it happen. So again, many, many thanks, Angel.

      In the next incident, I had just started going to school, which would put me at five years old. We were playing softball and I was next up to bat, waiting for a big boy to finish his turn. He had a queer habit of continuing the swing right around behind himself whenever he missed the ball. There I was, standing right at his shirt tail—talk about anxious. Anyhow, he missed the ball and continued his swing right around behind him, and hit me with his bat on the left side of my face really hard.

      One of the big boys loaded me up on the back of his horse and

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