by Freida Marie Crump
Greetin’s from the Ridge.
Oil and water. Fire and ice. Sometimes I truly think the Almighty put Herb and I together as some sort of divine joke. Often as not our disagreements are just a mild source of irritation but when the summer heat blasts away at Coonridge, there’s little "divine" about our peculiarities.
In short, Herb’s as cold-blooded as a garter snake and I can