At The Fair …

First, you should know that I was attacked by a mother hen when I was 3 or 4 years old — and have given wide berth to her kind ever since. The “gallina shocka” (phonetic Portuguese spelling) was probably upset because I’d been stepping on her chicks. Mom found me crying on my stomach with the hen on my back, pecking away. Now, onward. Last night, I was eyeballing one of the caged banty roosters in a North Idaho Fair barn when my mother-in-law pinched me. I didn’t say anything until she did it again. Why did you pinch me? I asked. I didn’t, she responded. At that point, I experienced a deja vu moment and knew instantly what’d happened. A pair of drum sticks with a beek had nailed me through its cage. Nah, I didn’t fall down on the ground and cry this time. However, I was tempted to buy that bird from its owner and have it for dinner.

Feedback: The worst job I have held was “hired hand” as a chicken ranch. The hens do not like people rading their nests to collect eggs and we are talking 600 laying hens. This was my summer between 7th and 8th grade. Worse than gathering eggs twice a day was cleaing out the dung. I still eat eggs and chicken but want nothing to do with their upkeep — Seamus.