About 30 years ago my elementary science teacher wife arranged for about a dozen and half fertilized chicken eggs and an incubator to be delivered to her classroom. The purpose was to expose a bunch of city slicker second graders to "farm life". They did some scientific analysis each day and eventually the kids got to experience the creation of life. The cute little chicks pecked there way to freedom. The kids loved it.
We brought the chickens home and kept them in a box in the utility room until the smell got too bad to tolerate. During that time I managed to build a small pen behind the barn. The kids named all the little chicks. We had Chicken George, Chicken Little, Joe Chicken, Attila the Hen, Foghorn Leghorn,
Louise, Sam and an assortment of other names. The chicks grew up quickly and and we had to juxtaposition some names as Joe Chicken turned out to be a hen and Chicken Little a rooster. Soon the hens started laying eggs. Yard eggs are the best. You eat well in the country.
It wasn't too long that I noticed some of the chickens missing. One evening I went to feed them behind the barn and a really large owl was having his way with one of the hens. It was a hungry Great Horned owl, not a horny Spotted Owl. Apparently, some birds of prey were reducing the flock. Efforts to protect the hens produced only minimal results. Eventually, we were down to one hen and about three roosters.
Soon the roosters had gotten really big, and MEAN! Chicken George, a white leghorn mix, would come after you if you turned your back on him. Once I was going in the barn to feed the horses. Something told me to turn around and Chicken George was bearing down on me. I drop kicked him about ten feet. He got up and gave me a "you got me this time, but you better watch out" look. From then on Chicken George and I kept our distance. The other two roosters disappeared. Chicken George was too big for the owls and hawks to fool with. The neighborhood dogs left him alone. He was one "Bad Ass" Chicken.
One day while I was at work, my wife went to feed the horses. She failed to give Chicken George proper respect. When she turned her back, Chicken George flanked her and flogged her from behind.
The spurs of a roster can be large and sharp. He drew blood and frightened my wife. She had already gotten fed up with the chickens. Attila the Hen, the last remaining female, was laying her daily egg on the work bench in the garage. This made gathering the egg easy, but it also increased the amount of chicken poop that had to be cleaned up.
With blood dripping down her leg, she summoned our neighbor, A.J. Henderson, to relocate Chicken George. AJ quickly brought an end to George's aggression and his short reign as King of the Farm.
Not long after Attila ventured too far from the garage and met her demise. And we returned to buying our eggs at Market Basket.
On most evenings a large owl can be seen in one of the trees near the barn searching for some prey.
The squirrels and snakes hide. The sudden appearance of this great bird can send chills up your spine. I wonder what would happen if Chicken George were still alive. If I were betting man, my money would be on Chicken George.
Wednesday, November 30, 2011
Saturday, November 26, 2011
Get Along Little Doggies
Over the years I have been approached by numerous folks to purchase raffle tickets. I have made it a principle to buy a few if the cost was small and the proceeds were going to a "good" cause.
One year, while visiting my wife's home in Hemphill, Texas, we went to a Bluegrass Festival in nearby Bronson, TX. They were selling tickets on numerous items that had been donated. Shotgun, BBQ Grill, etc. The drawings were held that day. They also sold tickets for a new Jeep. The drawing would be the next day and we would be heading back to Bevil Oaks.
I have been somewhat lucky in my lifetime as I have won a suit of clothes, a turkey, a case of whiskey and some smaller items. One time I bought tickets from the Beaumont Junior League. Since the tickets were only a dollar I bought ten. I filled them out with all the family names, including our Basset Hound, Tex. As luck would have it, Tex Wright's name was called at the formal function and he was the proud winner of a bottle of perfume. Fortunately, you did not have to be present to win. God only knows he could use the perfume.
Upon returning home from our weekend in Deep SE Texas, there was a note on the kitchen table from my daughter. It said to call a certain number that I had won a raffle. My immediate reactions was, "Hot Dog, I won that Jeep!" My daughter said, "No, it had something to do about winning a calf". I then remembered buying a ticket from a co-worker that was raising money for the Boy Scouts. I thought it was for a "side of beef". Upon calling the number I found out that it was a bull calf "on the hoof".
Since we already had horses and the pasture was fenced, I borrowed a stock trailer and drove to Spurger to pick him up. The calf was a full blooded beefmaster. We named him Bubba and begin to feed him. Bubba was not a friendly little fellow, but grew a little more comfortable around people at feeding time. After about six months, Bubba was getting a little size on him. I couldn't decide what to do with him. Jennifer wasn't interested in joining the FFA. The boys didn't rodeo. One day when I put his feed in the pen where I fed him, I closed the gate. Bubba looked around saw the gate closed and immediately jumped the fence. It was at that point I knew that my cow punchin' days needed to come to an end.
My friend from Tennessee, Bobby Ward, was visiting so the two of us roped Bubba and took him to the butcher. In a few days we had 450 pounds of beef. I filled the freezer and gave some meat to a neighbor. My other neighbor, Mrs. Henderson, wouldn't take any meat as she had got to know Bubba. My wife and daughter refused to eat anyone they knew.
For the next year Mike, Garrett and I ate well. One day we had HamBubbas, then BubbaBQ. We had Bubba loaf and Shish Ka Bubba. I think of Bubba every time I take my chlosterol medicine.
Some time I will tell you about raising chickens
One year, while visiting my wife's home in Hemphill, Texas, we went to a Bluegrass Festival in nearby Bronson, TX. They were selling tickets on numerous items that had been donated. Shotgun, BBQ Grill, etc. The drawings were held that day. They also sold tickets for a new Jeep. The drawing would be the next day and we would be heading back to Bevil Oaks.
I have been somewhat lucky in my lifetime as I have won a suit of clothes, a turkey, a case of whiskey and some smaller items. One time I bought tickets from the Beaumont Junior League. Since the tickets were only a dollar I bought ten. I filled them out with all the family names, including our Basset Hound, Tex. As luck would have it, Tex Wright's name was called at the formal function and he was the proud winner of a bottle of perfume. Fortunately, you did not have to be present to win. God only knows he could use the perfume.
Upon returning home from our weekend in Deep SE Texas, there was a note on the kitchen table from my daughter. It said to call a certain number that I had won a raffle. My immediate reactions was, "Hot Dog, I won that Jeep!" My daughter said, "No, it had something to do about winning a calf". I then remembered buying a ticket from a co-worker that was raising money for the Boy Scouts. I thought it was for a "side of beef". Upon calling the number I found out that it was a bull calf "on the hoof".
Since we already had horses and the pasture was fenced, I borrowed a stock trailer and drove to Spurger to pick him up. The calf was a full blooded beefmaster. We named him Bubba and begin to feed him. Bubba was not a friendly little fellow, but grew a little more comfortable around people at feeding time. After about six months, Bubba was getting a little size on him. I couldn't decide what to do with him. Jennifer wasn't interested in joining the FFA. The boys didn't rodeo. One day when I put his feed in the pen where I fed him, I closed the gate. Bubba looked around saw the gate closed and immediately jumped the fence. It was at that point I knew that my cow punchin' days needed to come to an end.
My friend from Tennessee, Bobby Ward, was visiting so the two of us roped Bubba and took him to the butcher. In a few days we had 450 pounds of beef. I filled the freezer and gave some meat to a neighbor. My other neighbor, Mrs. Henderson, wouldn't take any meat as she had got to know Bubba. My wife and daughter refused to eat anyone they knew.
For the next year Mike, Garrett and I ate well. One day we had HamBubbas, then BubbaBQ. We had Bubba loaf and Shish Ka Bubba. I think of Bubba every time I take my chlosterol medicine.
Some time I will tell you about raising chickens
Saturday, November 12, 2011
It must have been in the Smoke House
About six months ago I bought a new truck. It had a fancy key that remotely does all sorts of things before you get in the cab. As luck would have it recently I couldn't find the key. I looked for several days. Since I always put keys in the same place, I was baffled. I finally decided the most logical answer was that I inadvertently dropped in the garbage can when I threw some trash away. The can was emptied and the key was gone. Fortunately I had a second key with the key code.
During the search I recalled an old family saying. Whenever something was missing and couldn't be located, My Aunt or Mother would say, "It must have been in the Smoke House" or "It must have been in the top drawer. Growing up I never questioned the meaning of either statement, I just knew that they both meant, "Whatever it was you were looking for was gone".
Since I had not heard these sayings used outside the family, I asked my Mother what was the origin of the sayings. Well living in rural Texas, everyone had a smoke house that was used for smoking meat. A fire box was outside and the smoke channelled into the small shed to cook and smoke meat. Today this process is done with modern, and in many cases, portable equipment. As time passed the "smoke houses were used less for cooking and in a lot of cases, storage facilities. Somewhere in the family, after the conversion from meat to storage, the smoke house caught fire and burned to the ground, along with everything inside. Thus, what was inside was gone and anytime something couldn't be found "It must have been in the Smoke House"
The other saying, according to my Aunt, originated sometime in the mid 19th century when some of our family members were moving from Tennessee to Texas in a wagon. Reaching their destination they discovered that the top drawer of the chest of drawers had fallen out of the wagon along the way and everything in it was gone. Therefore, My key could have "been in the top drawer".
Oh, by the way, a new, programmed key costs $250.00. Finding that out you could say that I was:
1. Hotter than a two-dollar pistol
2. Hotter than a depot stove
or
3. Hotter than a four-balled tom-cat.
During the search I recalled an old family saying. Whenever something was missing and couldn't be located, My Aunt or Mother would say, "It must have been in the Smoke House" or "It must have been in the top drawer. Growing up I never questioned the meaning of either statement, I just knew that they both meant, "Whatever it was you were looking for was gone".
Since I had not heard these sayings used outside the family, I asked my Mother what was the origin of the sayings. Well living in rural Texas, everyone had a smoke house that was used for smoking meat. A fire box was outside and the smoke channelled into the small shed to cook and smoke meat. Today this process is done with modern, and in many cases, portable equipment. As time passed the "smoke houses were used less for cooking and in a lot of cases, storage facilities. Somewhere in the family, after the conversion from meat to storage, the smoke house caught fire and burned to the ground, along with everything inside. Thus, what was inside was gone and anytime something couldn't be found "It must have been in the Smoke House"
The other saying, according to my Aunt, originated sometime in the mid 19th century when some of our family members were moving from Tennessee to Texas in a wagon. Reaching their destination they discovered that the top drawer of the chest of drawers had fallen out of the wagon along the way and everything in it was gone. Therefore, My key could have "been in the top drawer".
Oh, by the way, a new, programmed key costs $250.00. Finding that out you could say that I was:
1. Hotter than a two-dollar pistol
2. Hotter than a depot stove
or
3. Hotter than a four-balled tom-cat.
Wednesday, November 2, 2011
Dreams
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)