My grandma Josephine kept chickens, and sold their eggs to Wilbur the egg man every week. She would collect the eggs and leave them on the dining room table. We would then go in to town to eat dinner and Wilbur would come and get the eggs off of the dining room table. Then he would leave the money and take the eggs. Sometimes King, my grandparents German Shepard, forgot who Wilbur was, so he would let Wilbur in the house to get the eggs, but he wouldn't let Wilbur leave the house. That's when we would get a phone call up at The Dairy Dipper from Wilbur, asking to speak to my grandparents. Wilbur would explain the situation and we would go back to the farm so Wilbur could leave the house.
So, about my grandma Josephine's chickens......there was this one time when she told me to stay out of the henhouse, because otherwise the baby chicks would die.
Ok. First, let me tell you that I'm the kind of person who
So anyway, because I was 9, Grandma Josephine didn't bother with the details, she just told me to stay out of the henhouse and expected that I would. That's it, that's all.
My mom should have told her that's not how I operated. So, I blame Mom.
Bad Mom.
It was Easter break and my parents had shipped me off to the farm for another week, and my grandma made the mistake of telling me that there were chicks.
She sat me down and very sternly told me to stay out of the henhouse, because there were brand-new chicks in there. And that's all she told me.
That's like telling a child that there are kittens in the shed out back, but neglecting to mention the fact that there is a Velociraptor in there as well. Yes, I know, but it's not like Allie Brosh owns the rights to the word Velociraptor. Anyone can use it.
I kicked around in the dirt of the chicken run long enough to make Grandma think I had forgotten all about the baby chicks. I snuck a quick look and realized I was no longer being watched.
It was time to make my move.
OMG you guys! There were about 25-40 tiny yellow baby chicks, and they were sooo cute! The henhouse was lit by several warming lights, and the floor was littered with straw.
But wait. There seemed to be one baby chick who appeared sad. Left out. Bereft.
I decided I would pick him up and console him.
As I moved toward that one baby chick, all of the chicks moved toward the opposing wall in a wave. They all piled on top of one another in a frantic attempt to escape my affections.
Because that's what baby chicks do. Grandma Josephine should have been more specific.
Realizing that I was in serious trouble, I did what any responsible, morally upright child would do.
I ran like hell.
Later, as I was re-reading Little Women in my bedroom for the thousandth time, Grandma Josephine came in.
Grandma: "Did you go into my henhouse today? After I specifically told you not to?"
Me: (refusing to make eye contact) "Um, no?"
Grandma: "Well, it looks like 27 of my baby chicks have been smothered to death. Are you sure you don't know anything about it?"
Me: "Wow! I read somewhere that dogs hate chickens. Maybe King killed them. He was looking at them yesterday, like he was jealous of them. I bet he killed them. You should check his mouth for feathers
Grandma (sighing): "Is this going to be like the time you killed the Easter Bunny?"
Me: "No!! That was an ACCIDENT!!!"
I won't bore you with the details, but Grandma eventually got me to admit to accidentally killing approximately 25-30 of her baby chicks. So, I got the "all animals are God's creatures and stop killing them!!" lecure.
Again.
So that's why I think the chicken chased me around the farmyard when I was 11, after my grandpa chopped it's head off.
Because that's payback.
