Uncle Jack writes:
I made a nice spot for him in the garage and kept him there. Up until the time I met Jim I thought that all chickens were dumb. Jim changed my mind. There was no doubt that Jim realized he was something special because of the way he would lord it over the other chickens—especially on hot summer days.. He would strut back and forth in front of the screen door on the front of the chicken coop where the poor chickens were almost dying from the heat. You could almost hear him saying to them, “You poor clucks. Here you are almost roasting to death and here I am walking around free as a bird.” It was then I learned that chickens have a memory as well as a vengeance streak.
I learned this one day when the chickens got out—AGAIN. We finally caught them all and put them back into their chicken coop. By mistake, we put Jim in with the rest of the chickens. Luckily I missed him and went looking for him. I found him cowering in a corner, his body covered with blood from the numerous pecks he had received from the vengeful chickens. He did survive but he never did make that mistake again; he always stayed clear of the chicken coop. In the end, his friendliness did him in. One day he turned up missing, never to be seen again. We always suspected that our neighbor, Mrs. Patti, had caught him and the Patti family had a nice chicken dinner that night.
Aunt CB writes:
Well, this is a crazy thing! I get a request through the “Pet-Heaven-O-Gram to write a story about my life—seventy-five years ago!!
So, OK, here goes————
“Cock-a-dodle-do!” (I’m a little rusty here)
Make no mistake, I am the master of the barnyard at 30 West St! I have 10 or 12 handmaidens, (well, they are not all “maidens”) all of whom do my bidding! They scratch and poke the ground in our “yard” and when they see a worm, they “cluck-cluck” and I race over and grab it! (I must keep up my strength as they keep me pretty busy!) They also lay eggs and when they do so, I try to let my boss know by crowing. Then he sends out one of the scrubby kids to gather them and they are supposed to remember to feed us! Mostly they do.
On Sunday mornings I get my pampering. They bring me in their big room where they eat and feed me left-over pancakes. These are pretty sweet because they dip sticky stuff over them but I can get them down. I try not to stay too long, though, cause that sticky stuff travels through me fast and they get upset when it leaks out! Why do they use it then?
I am a lucky rooster, because there are few in the area. Even the 1st and 6th grade teachers know that I am special, every so often they send home with one of those scrubby kids, a coffee can full of their special leftovers. Theirs are better than pancakes!
So now I’ll sign off—
Tommy, the Rhode Island Red Rooster, King of the Plymouth Rock hens
Thanks Mom and Dad--Wonderful stories! Anyone else have a favorite pet they want to write about? Please send them my way!