Chicken dinner

Because of our relative poverty Mom worked to produce much of our means through gardening, rabbits, pigs, and chickens. The chickens and rabbits were raised in buildings made for them on what I will call the east yard (90 degrees clockwise from the front yard which is relative north). The pens were south of the driveway (if you will allow a dirt road to be called a driveway) and a short distance (less than 100 feet) from the front door.

I remember the spring that a box of chicks arrived (from Sears) in the mail. A couple chicks were dead but another couple dozen were alive and well. I wonder if it was Easter - I don't know. Dad hooked up an electric warming light (I guess we did have electricity) and the chicks grew into chickens in short order. Oh, and a rooster or two. Dad had built a tiny chicken house from 2x4 and what I remember as bristol board and similar to peg board but with no holes.

One of my regular jobs was to gather eggs. I did this frequently and, since we did not seem to eat the 10 or so eggs every day, I assume that Mom sold/traded most of them.

After many days of gathering eggs, the rooster (a required fixture in a productive hen house) began to resent my presence. He would scurry around me making lots of noise. He was nearly half my height and growing. There came a point when I feared going into the pen but I did it anyway - reason unknown since I was quite a chicken myself. After many days of complaining to my parents, this rooster made my life easy by jumping onto my shoulders and pecking many small injuries into my head. I remember covering my eyes with my arm. I do not remember how I got him off my shoulders. I don't remember actually arriving back at the house door. But I do remember the delicious chicken dinner. Bob 1, nature -1.