Patricia Ann Coats Hanrahan Daughter of Gene & Pearl Coats Growing up on a farm was a interesting, sometimes boring, hard working time. I remember doing laundry in a old shed, cranking clothes, putting them in tubs of hot and cold water, standing at the clothes line on a chair to hang them up. Another use for our clothes lines was my brother Kirk hanging up a possum by his tail, dad brought it home from the field. Dad, was a unique character, he had a great love for animals. One time he saw a stray dog (just a pup) and he drove into the field 40 miles an hour via the deep country ditch (it didn't matter there were icey roads, mud, rain, etc., when he seen something he went for it). When we ran the dog down, the dog ran under the truck & my dad was on his hands & knees yelling, here doggie, and we had a new pet. However, animals must behave & when our mixed breed Collie started eating chickens, dad got even, he took a dead chicken and soaked him in oil and hung it around "Pooties" neck. That was the end of chicken stealing. We were the proud family of many new members, skunks, rabbits, possums, cats, dogs, etc. One time Dad said "Buggy Ann" (my pet name, dad had us all named something), get in the truck and he told 2 dogs to get in the back of the pickup. We drove to the field and he sent the dogs out to the field. He got a gun and shot both and killed them. He said they killed some chickens. "Pootie" just got lucky. Dad also picked up kids. We usually had some extra boys around. We got Billy from Montana when he went custom combing and he became a member. Cousin Therrol came every summer from Los Angeles, Calif., boy were we impressed with him. He was the neatest member. He told us country kids the way it was in the city. We heard his tales of movie stars, flying fish in the ocean and we loved it. His friends were Korean, Italian, etc., and we just couldn't imagine it in dear old Plains, we just had white folks. My dad encouraged Therrol and the stories got bigger every year. Therrol was a chip off the Coats block. My uncle Kyle and dad use to entertain us with stories. Kyle was nicknamed "Doc", I never really knew why, but I think he was a Medic in the Army and I grew up thinking he knew alot about medicine. He & dad would keep us laughing. My friends loved dad. He died at 46, but he lived a full life. He never really grew up. We had a airplane and a motorcycle. He took my girlfriends for rides and flew upside down (he loved to scare them). He was always searching for excitement. You learned at a early age to mind him, he would knock you silly for anything, thump you on the head, five you a "Dutch rub", pinch your leg, pull your ears. He lost 2 fingers & thumb on his right hand, grandma Coats told me it was because he & a friend was playing with Dynamite caps in a cave. One time my cousin John, Kirk and I went looking for entertainment in the barn, we jumped from one bin to another and mixed dad's seed wheat. He was ferrous and we all got spanked. My cousin John was always getting Kirk and I in trouble. One time he forced us into going to Mrs. Timberlakes house and picking flowers, it started out OK, but John got crazy and started pulling them up and throwing them around. (He was a mean little sucker). I'm sure his side of this story is different. (Since I (John Staples) am typing these stories for my mothers book, I will set the record straight on this event. Pat, was 2 years older than me and 4 years older than Kirk and you the reader can easily figure out who would have been the ring leader of our gang.) My brother Kirk was a quiet little kid, but his idea of a good time and my dad's idea of him having a good time just didn't match. One time Kirk turned on a faucet on a tank and was playing in gas. This was during the time of rations. This created a great deal of yelling and crying. I am sure Kirk remembers it.