Thursday, May 28, 2009

I grew up on a farm in Kansas. That is somewhere so close to the truth. We went 'Home" for Christmas every year and although it was for only two weeks every December...The memories flood my mind. The first memories of my Granparents farm was a summer time, enough for a post position of it's own. (later) This one's for ellen and her sneaky chickens. I will fore go the story of exactly how one gets to the kitchen table, some wild lesson my Grandfather just HAD to share. You know the 'one' it's the classic. I only had minor problems with the sneaky chickens but my Grandparents had horrid, nasty, vicious chickens. Banni chickens...for bantam....for any small breed, sometimes called miniatures. Maybe they were so horrid to make up for a small stature?? I actually had to be given a self-defense lesson against the beasts. This was after the 3rd time I left the house and a search and rescue party had to be dispatched to get me out of the peach tree. My screaming and wailing was of no service, actually, you know, I think maybe they just let me sit a spell before the rescue ensued. I had done the picnic table, the fence posts, hay bales, the hood of Pop's truck and some stuff I wasn't supposed to climb. My Grandmother does not recall the ladder being up for the peach tree but by golly there it was and then there I was treed by the beastly bannies. My Grandmother was my martial arts master. Sometimes my Grandfather would have to laugh. He just HAD to but my Grandmother never..never laughed at me, although she did turn her back on me quite a bit. Whatever that was about?? Well all I had to do was remind the killer chickens that I was bigger than they were so I hopped and squawked and flapped my own wings every bit as much as they could and took an occasional swipe at them with a foot. Yes, sometimes my Grandfather just had to laugh.

This appears to be one of those things I was not supposed to climb. Like the water tank. You can just tell how rotten nasty that bird is. Probably got some poor sweet 7 year old right up that ladder.


  1. LOL!! I can relate - I was paid $.50 per week by my great-grandmother to close the chicken coop door each night.

  2. I can just imagine you sitting in the peach tree, bemoaning your fate and called the chcken stupid kid names. Too funny. Love the picture.


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