Hen-Pecked Redux

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 “galina shocka” (phonetic Portuguese spelling) was upset because I’d been stomping on her chicks. I was on my stomach, crying, with the mother hen on my back pecking away, when Mom rushed to the rescue. Now, onward. On opening night of the North Idaho Fair, I was eyeballing caged banty roosters in the chicken/rabbit 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 deja vu and knew instantly what’d happened. A black 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. Rather, I was tempted to buy that bird from its owner and have it for dinner — Best of Huckleberries Online.

Hat Tip: Phil Corless for photo illustration