Daddy's Little Knife

It seems the older I get, things seem to jog my memory to the "old days." Most old days go back to the farm where I was raised until I was eleven years old. I suppose those days hold firm in my memory because I am like most older people the long term memory holds true unlike short term memory does. In my case I have very little of the short term stuff left.
When I was little my dad did a lot of different things with no help except with a small jackknife.  My mom used to laugh about that little knife. She used to say that dad did every thing from castrate animals to quarter apples with that little knife.
I have seen dad sharpen his knife and test it with the hair on his arms. Sharpening his small "hired hand" was very interesting to
watch for a little girl. He had several different ways to accomplish this. Sometimes he would put his knife in water on a wet stone. In,over and in over. Then the testing would begin on his arm. A small satisfied smile would appear on his face and I knew that he was a happy man.
I loved to "tail" my dad on his chores. I loved observing the smells and cobwebs in the buildings and listening to his chuckles when I asked him little girl questions.
I learned that mama sows didn't like little girls leaning over the pen. I learned not to open bags of feed. That was a bad yelling lesson. That feat was supposed to be just my dad's chore with his little knife; not his little girl's  tiny fingers that teased the string loose.
Dad's little knife tested the sweetcorn for juiciness, the soy beans for dryness, and the creepin jenny vines from choking out the flowers and vegetables. Dad used his knife for plugging a watermelon. I saw Dad clean his fingernails with his knife and pick out a splinter from his finger.
As a matter of fact, shortly before he left this world, he was still using his knife to cut cardboard to make a cover for his dictionary.
I wonder what ever happened to that beloved tool of my dad's.