Kendall High School - Troubadour Yearbook (Kendall, NY)

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THE TROUBADOUR Published by the Students of Kendall High School iciiNi1AiLLfiNfw'f-kiti 'Wii935kXrYNUAi wh BUNE 1935 Editor-in-chief . Assistant Editor . . Faculty Adviser Literary ...... Assistant . . . Sports . . . Activities .. Humor . . . Assistant .. Photographic .. Art ............. Business Manager Page Ten - Troubadour Board . . .Marion Vick . . .Luella Schmidt Miss Lucile Brooks . . . . . .Nellie Wing . . .Luella Wilson . .Junior Oehlbeck . . . .Vera Priestly . . .Challiss Preston .Frederick Jensen . . . .Luther Armstrong WEE? 1 Goin 3 Q EjYg'9 ':5f ' Vw fli 'it ni . fwhlfn ,. E Em.. , .fi 451'- vi W.. fs, it: fm ? l x Il P' . . . . . .Helen Shaw . .Lorraine Behnke

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1935 THE TROUBADOUR ' U -.RE SKIPPY lt has often been said that many animals experience no genuine affection for their offspring. To bring this out many point to the utter ruthlessness with which some kill their own young when something irks them. My experience with a cat has led me to believe differently. The problem which led to my experience was a surplus of cats at our home. As cats sometimes will, ours all had kittens. My task was to find a suitable means of disposing of them. So one evening just before dusk I took my shot- gun and went to the barn to get the kittens. Much to my relief, Skippy was absent. I placed the kittens in my arms, altogether there were three of them, and started down toward the orchard where I intended to shoot them. Their pitiful meows almost moved me to take them back, however, I resolved to finish the task. When I reached the orchard, I set the kittens down in order that I might dispatch them with one shot. Their own bewilderment kept them from mov- ing out of that position. I slowly backed away until I was about fifty paces away from them. In the dim silent dusk, the dull metallic click of the shell, as I pumped it into the gun chamber, seemed an eerie mockery of any senti- ment I might have had regarding the kittens. The crash of the shot had scarcely died away before my eyes fell on a pitiful sight. There stood Skippy just a few feet away from where her kittens were giving last convulsive twinges before their death. She made no out-cry but merely gazed at her little ones. If the kittens had been human, I do not believe I could have felt more like a murderer. Skippy slowly turned and walked away. It has been three weeks now and she has not returned yet. -Harold Jensen, English IV Page Twelve