Harking back . . .
I was suddenly inundated
with a childhood memory.
From the time I was six 'til
15, I raised five different
kinds of foul . . .
-black hens
-ducks
-geese
-guineas
-turkeys
We ate the eggs from all
except the hens and those
eggs I sold to the neighbors.
Dad built a humungous cage
as big as any room. They all
lived happily enough together.
Only the guineas would fly
out during the day and return
at feeding time.
I'd go out each afternoon and
feed and water them all. Some
where in the mix, I ended up
with a ginormous rooster and
I mean ginormous.
When I'd go out to feed and
collect eggs, he'd fly up on
my back and clasp my hair
in his beak. I would tell my
parents, but they thought I
was exaggerating. Finally, I'd
carry a flyswat and be ready
for the attack.
At night, I'd kneel beside my
bed and pray that God would
take him home. Finally, one
day he died. Of course, as a
kid, I indeed thought God had
taken care of me . . . maybe
he did.
To this day, I love eggs of all
kinds and hate roosters beyond
measure!
Go figure . . .
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