The Glasberg pair. I have known them.
This is what I call them to ensure their anonymity.
Every Friday evening they would go out to dinner in the village restaurant “Big de Bruges”. Then they ordered a good bottle of wine. I only had one drink for fun. Not much. I drank the rest.
In this regard, the pair were a good team with a clear division of tasks
Couldn’t stand it, wine. Then, when they left her, she always walked out of the restaurant, dead drunk.
Once, when a friend of mine and I found a place for dinner, we had a conversation when they walked past our table when they left. Then she had to hold on to the table so she wouldn’t fall and she only understood half of what I was saying. (But it could have been me, too.)
After her husband died six years later, she still ate outside every Friday in the village restaurant. by herself. And again I ordered that bottle of wine. For her. But she still couldn’t handle it well.
The question was: How can she get home after that because her husband has always driven? Well, she’s back home. She moved from lamppost to lamppost, tearing bushes from the ground. But it always worked.
Finally, a good acquaintance decided to take her from now on.
She lived near me. And when I was walking the family dog regularly, I came across her with her Doburger pincher. A moment of sniffing and shaking. This is dogs. She was always apologetic for shaking her dog a bit. He was already very old.
To her the great Leidenshaft, those were the animals. Then animals in general, but kangaroos in particular.
If the ants were bothering her under the porch, she spoke to them. I asked them to find another place in the park. I don’t think it ever worked.
When the ants were allowed to fly and spread their wings and did not hesitate to enter her kitchen, she captured them one by one and carried them to the outside world. It must have taken her all day.
Big house pin, found a place in a crack next to the bathroom window, just let them sit. “Come and see, what a beautiful spider.”
She was an expert at catching wasps that flew in. With the help of a mug and an old postcard, I was able to catch them flawlessly. And when she released an animal like that, she would always say, “Now you won’t come back.” But if the wasps can do one thing good, they come back.
Once, when she had a wasp’s nest below the surface, she let the Hymen go about their business for months. When I read that such a nest can grow to about ten thousand insects, it was removed by the pest control “green hornet”. He devised a way to remove the nest without having to kill the animals. Such a procedure takes days. But she went for it.
She also paid special attention to the animals in the meadow. If she had the idea that she was not being taken care of properly, she would ring the bell. Once, when I was talking to her in a field where there were some ponies, which she thought were neglected, she said, “Paultje’s pistols have already been spotted.” Pistolen Paultje, Paul Anton Wilking, was a quasi-criminal who personally visited animal abusers to teach them a lesson. He earned his nickname because he collected weapons, not because he fired them.
Couldn’t stand the alcohol. But, perhaps because of the loneliness, I took more and more of it. It has been transformed from wine to gin and everyday use. Once a week, the local liquor store brought her supplies in a large cardboard box. Even the neighbors chased after him once.
But those gin bottles, got there anyway.
Finally one day she was found unconscious in her house on the floor amidst some empty bottles. Once she recovered, she realized she couldn’t go on like this. I decided to get rid of this habit. I finally succeeded. She died by the rules on the last day of her life: her old age.
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