Yesterday I requested some fun memories from all my Facebook friends. I have to admit some of them made me giggle but none made me laugh out loud like "EASTER CHICKS". Sometimes there are those memories that lay deep inside you that only a sibling can make you remember with just two words.
I can't recall a time that chickens weren't a part of our lives. My grandfather was a chicken farmer. He raised laying hens and we were always there picking up eggs, feeding those birds and boxing up the eggs for shipment.
One of my first memories of these said chickens was of me and my daddy bringing four chickens down the chert road to the awaiting pots and pans, where both sets of grandparents were prepared for our arrival. These chickens were twined together at their "feet" and were pecking the fool out of my leg as I struggled to carry them. I was all of 5 years old but I was helping my daddy and peck or not I was going to get them to my grandparents. As we arrived, Daddy took the chickens and hooked that twine on a nail there on the fence post. There hung, upside down, squawking chickens, "legs" tied together and my daddy with a hatchet in his hand. I'm sure I must have been deeply disturbed at the time for I have remembered this now for 45 years. I have always heard the old saying "run around like a chicken with its head cut off", and I was about to get a first hand look to know this to be the truth.
Never had I seen someone take a hatchet with such finesse and skill, swiftly bring the blade to the necks of four chickens and two twine. Sure enough as blood spewed those silly chickens were running around the yard! I was outta there fast as my five year old legs would take me. I don't know where I ran but I'm sure my brother was somewhere close by torturing me reminding me that I walked those chickens to their deaths! He had a tendency to do that...and true to form yesterday he thoroughly enjoyed reminding me of another incident involving chickens.
Think of it....Sicily...1928.... oh wait, that's another tale. Many of you may remember "back in the day", when at Easter all of the feed and seed stores had the cutest little colored chicks. There were the most precious looking creatures and I'm sure we pestered mom and dad until they got us some. We were raised in a home where every penny mattered and had to be accounted for. I would go as far as to say mama and daddy probably discussed getting those chickens for us several times before a decision was made.
I don't remember whether we were getting these cute teeny creatures or the parental units surprised us with them but there they were, four tiny, immature, chirping, pastel colored, chicks. A different color for each of us. They were in a cardboard box with a heat lamp for warmth in our bedroom. The three girls shared one room so why we got custody of these non sleeping things I will never know. Steve probably whined they kept him awake! But I digress.
I am going to claim the innocence of a child for I know not why I did what I did. Or better yet, as the pastor said Sunday "The devil made me do it" after all this was the 1970s and Geraldine was a hit. I do have a vague memory of it although it must have been much more impressive to my sissy brother than it was to me. Here is all I remember of this incident, for as the small baby sister I'm sure they blamed it ALL on me! There was this sweet, precious, trusting little mint green chick. He was soft and cuddly. I only remember putting my tiny little chubby hand behind his skinny little head, my tiny little chubby thumb under his pointy little beak and I pushed. That thing could vomit! Did you know a chicken can vomit? I'm here to tell you from personal experience, they do! It must have been addictive like popping bubble wrap. One wasn't enough. I was addicted at that very moment. I had the power to let these bantam things live or die. Well, they died. I am told I killed all four. I think that is an exaggeration. I think it is yet another story I've been told and brain washed into believing. You know, I think I will add this to the list of things I want to ask God when I get to heaven. "Did I REALLY kill all four Easter chicks or were my siblings messing with me?" I was only three! Give me a break!
Before you judge me think about it, I just sent them to heaven a little sooner than they were going anyway. I will see them again one day, but this time I will be nice, I promise. Evidently I wasn't the only thing killing those Easter chicks. It was later reported the dye they were using was sending those wonderful creatures to an early death and traumatizing youngsters all over the south. Imagine waking on Easter morning only to find the Easter bunny had snuffed the life from your beautiful friend. I like to think I saved my siblings, especially my big ole cry baby brother, the heart ache of thinking the Easter bunny was a murderer. You can thank me later Steve. I will tell the brown thrasher story another time.
Good night and remember chickens can vomit.
