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#1
11-09-2006, 05:09 PM
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I thought you'd enjoy this one. Do you REALLY mean that you have no interest in reading about the poodle in a future chapter? The one after the squirrel and the skunk? Man-o-man...You're a tough, tough editor. Do you have any interest in the rat story? 
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#2
11-09-2006, 05:15 PM
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Sorry...I'm not an animal guy,I've had enough pets, and I've definately had enough of the RATS!....they'll be all over the place for a couple of years
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#3
11-09-2006, 05:36 PM
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they've been around for about six years. Their names will be changed to protect the "innocent", but Delay, Abrahmoff, Lay, geesh ...this is going to be a long, long chapter. Maybe you won't read it, plenty of others will. Heck, some people even buy O'Reilly's book...go figure....people will read anything! Some people still even listen to Rush Limbaugh (or is that limburger)...smells like old cheese to me, but then again, RATS like to feed on it. btw, I really do like animals. People could learn a lot from them.
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#4
11-11-2006, 01:23 PM
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Timm,
I forgot to tell you about a little bantam rooster that once strutted around the place like he owned it. One day, I decided to do an experiment. I carefully counted out exactly one hundred corn kernals. I made sure no other cluckers were around and tossed them in his direction. There and then, right on the bare asphalt driveway, that bantam rooster went to scratchin' and feedin'. Dang near wore of the claws at the ends of his spindly little feet trying to get 'em all. Best he could do was 31% of them. Yup, only 31%. Seems his crop got so blown up that he started chokin', right then and there. Well, I could tell his struttin' days were over, but I didn't know what to do for him. A few minutes later, the donkey got loose and with all the commotion going on from that bantam rooster, my guess is that the donkey was curious about what it could do too. The whole thing came to a sudden halt when that donkey stepped on the bantam rooster's head. I don't think the donkey meant to but that little fluffy feathered guy didn't know what had hit him. Problem solved. Anyway, I did an autopsy on that little bantam rooster before he found his tough little carcass in a big pot of boiling water. You might have guessed it...inside that crop that he wanted to stuff full and choked on were exactly 31 kernals of corn. 31%.
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#5
11-12-2006, 02:13 PM
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The Tale of the Chicken Hawk
Long ago, in a tall white pine near the cluckers' coup came a chicken hawk. More specifially, it was a goshawk. It was very fierce, very hungry. I couldn't really blame him for sitting there, looking down on my tastey little pullets, and I certainly did my best to scare him away. I threw some rocks up at his high perch in that white pine, and he'd fly away for a little while, but he always came back. I knew it would be a matter of time. Sure, I knew that goshawks are "protected" raptors. My guess is that he did too. I just didn't want him to eat any of my little hens. We actually got to know each other for a while. I named him Hally Burton. He'd see me coming across the yard towards the coop and take off from the white pine before I could toss a rock in his direction. That Hally Burton chicken hawk was one old smart bird. Well, one day, while I was away at school, I guess ol' Hally couldn't stand it any longer. My dad told me that he watched the whole thing unfold. He saw that rock dodger fly from his perch and go right through the open window of the little hen house. For sure he was waiting for the pullets to come inside to their nests, ready to pick one off for his dinner. Anyway, my dad just walked over and closed the window. Hally guy was trapped. Let me tell you, he tore up the inside of that place! When I got off the school bus, my dad told me what was waiting and asked me what I wanted to do. I just said that I'd like to let him go, but dad didn't expect that he'd be flying off too far, and the "problem" would come back to his perch. So dad and I hashed it out for a while, and I finally did what I thought was the right thing. Yup, I just opened the door and hoped he would fly away and learn his lesson. Hoping he wouldn't come back... As that chicken hawk came flapping out, dad reached for the rack in the rear window of his pickup, loaded a 12 guage shell, and dropped ol' Hally like a clay pigeon at the skeet range. "Problem" solved. My dad has since passed on, so there's no use prosecuting him, and the goshawk won't be botherin' to any time soon. Some lessons are harder learned than others, I guess. RIP Hally Burton...and my dad, too. Thanks for teaching me about "enough is enough". Last edited by Downthestretch55 : 11-12-2006 at 02:43 PM.
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#6
11-21-2006, 03:26 PM
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A Turkey is not a Duck
One of the memorable "poultry stories" comes to mind. Spring was coming, and Dad, always a planner, was thinking ahead. Sure, Thanksgiving was months away, but he had the ducks and not a lot of cash. So, he sent away and bought a dozen turkey eggs from Murry McMurray. The eggs came a few weeks later, and not having an incubator, he decided to put the eggs in the nest of one of the hen ducks. Female ducks, as you know, are not good sitters, but this one was broody and had already started a clutch, that he took away and ate for breakfast one day. The turkey eggs would satisfy her "maternal needs". She was quite diligent about her expected family. She sat there day after day waiting, waiting, and waiting some more. She must have had some patience bred into her fluffy little feathers. Finally the day came and we all were amazed when those little poults pecked their way out of their shells. They were such cute little bundles of fluff! Mommy duck took to them right away, and of course they imprinted. She'd take her little family to the pond and try to teach them how to swim. They didn't seem too interested in becoming Esther Williams, and would just stand at the edge of the water with the bull frogs while she did her aquatic ballet. Mommy, peep, peep, peep. Mommy duck would try to teach them her language, though I don't think they really caught on. Sad to say, one morning, only one baby turkey was found alive. A rat or weasel must have found them. Somehow, they always do. Well, now that mommy duck was down to nurturing her only child, and still trying to make that little turkey into the image of herself, things went downhill fast. She'd try to teach it to swim. It had no idea. She'd quack, "Follow me! Quack, quack!" It didn't understand... refused to follow. Well, the days got shorter and somehow that turkey found its feathers. It grew to be Tom. Gooble and strut. And, like every story, this one about the turkey came to an end. It only took one ax, a decisive cut and run, a little plucking, and some cornbread stuffing. All that was needed beyond that was the lively "political disussion" that Uncle Jack would bring to the dining table. He did. Sometimes, so do I. Thanks Uncle Jack. You never had difficulty speaking your mind. Tom was delicious. For sure, it is hoped that all little strutting turkeys end that way. Happy Thanksgiving! Don't forget the cranberry sauce, and a good discussion with your family. And please remember to give thanks. DTS
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#7
11-30-2006, 12:27 PM
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"Misty" has a rider up.
Yesterday, I spent the afternoon at the farm. Some little boy scouts were coming by to work on their "knights and armor" merit badges. Five bucks a piece for their hour "ride". So, it took Sharon, April, and myself to tack up Christine (the polo pony), Sweet Harmony (retired quarter horse), Pearl ( old gal, polo also), and Misty, the black shetland, ribbon winner, in anticipation of the "knights". I was to give them a tour of the barns before they climbed on the horses. Told them not to wave their little hands in front of a horse's mouth if they didn't want to lose a finger or two. Told them that horses liked quiet. Moms and dads followed the little guys, clicking away with their cameras. Flashes in the horse's faces. The boys were better behaved than the paperazzi. Well, the kids were plenty excited, so I led them to the indoor arena where their mounts awaited. After adjusting the sturrips and telling them to keep their heels down, the boys were boosted to the saddles. Not to worry, a groom had each horse on a short lead as we walked around the indoor ring four times, did a reverse (wide), with another person walking beside (me) included, next to each boy...just to catch if they lost balance. Moms and dads kept up the flashes everytime we came around in front of them. The old mares were as nice as could be. So, back to Misty. A kid named Devon was on her. I was the "catcher". He held a death grip on the saddle during most of his pony ride. Finally, I told him how to hold the reins (even though the groom held the lead all the time). His confidence grew. Then the smile came. I can't exactly explain what that look was like. Just something very good when an old gal like Misty works her charm, lets you know that the fear you once had wasn't necessary in the first place. After the "lesson" and we helped them climb down, each boy stood next to the one they "rode". Moms and dads took more pictures. Devon looked like he'd just climbed Everest. I took the boys for a walk through the shedrow while the grooms took the mares back to their stalls and untacked them. They kept asking me if they could "pet" one. So I took them to Shot o' Bourbon, my filly, and they each gave her a gentle touch on her nose. Shot was fine with that, but after the third kid, she'd had enough and went to the back of her stall. More pictures. "She's beautiful!" Well, I just wanted to share this little story about Misty. She was the one that taught someone that "the only thing you have to fear is fear itself." She went back to her hay. Nice job, Misty! Devon went back to his doings...school, homework, and merit badges. My guess is that his smile won't go away for about two months...maybe longer. Interesting to me...once the fear is gone, the "terrible thoughts" confronted, smiles can really happen. Thank you Misty. You taught another one.
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