photo by Donna Elliot on Unsplash
Here’s another post about a Thanksgiving Day disaster at my Dad’s family farm. I have mixed childhood memories about that farm. And check out the other T-day post called Stinky Dog Thanksgiving. In fact, check out all the other posts you might have missed, I dare you!
I grew up in suburbia. My mother loved the city and detested the whole farm idea and passed that on to me with some success. She tolerated visits to the family farm but kept a firm grip on my hand most of the time.
I was 5. I was tiny and timid. I had on a red sweater. My Dad and his aunts were showing us kids around the smoke house and I was hiding behind my Mom’s legs. It was all so different than home. We got ready to enter the chicken coop when a rooster decided he didn’t like my looks. He jumped me.
I don’t know if you know this but roosters have spurs on their legs. That f***ing rooster raked its spurs down my face diagonally across my forehead, over my nose barely missing my eye and across my cheek and mouth.
I was so stunned I didn’t even make a noise. And then I let out the eardrum bursting pain scream that only little kids can do. I was bleeding profusely and rooster was getting ready for round 2.
Mr. Rooster didn’t count on my great aunt’s speed though. She snatched him up by the head, swung him around a few times and snapped his neck. I continued screaming now in both pain and absolute terror. Proudly, my great aunt showed me the dead bird saying, “He won’t hurt you anymore sugar. He’s good and dead. We’ll have him for dinner.” More screaming on my part.
They cleaned me up, got me to quit screaming and we headed back to my grandmother’s, missing the Zain gets revenge over Mr. Rooster victory dinner. I do remember that as the evening went on, I couldn’t open my mouth without making the deep scratch bleed. I didn’t realize it then but I learned a lot in that encounter about farm life. Humans rule. Nothing is wasted. You get hurt, you get over it. Life goes on.
Now I live on a farm and I have an attitude with chickens. I’m the alpha chicken. I take control letting any rooster around know I’m going to kick its ass if it even looks as me. I never turn my back on the evil bastards and I never wear red in the hen house.
I love a good story. I love a good conversation. I know you’ve had a close encounter of the animal kind when you were a kid. You know the one where were playing cowboys and you tied your little brother to the neighbor’s Great Pyrenees who took off and your little brother broke his nose as a result. Come on! Leave me a comment below.
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