WorldWide Drilling Resource

32 MARCH 2015 WorldWide Drilling Resource ® Through the Front Door! by Jim Kuebelbeck Raising Chickens Part 2 Only later in life, did we learn why the roosters were kept in a separate coop, away from the laying hens. Until then, we just assumed the big roosters were raised only for butchering and eating. Mom regu- larly “dispatched” the big roosters the usual “farm” way. An old tree stump near the chicken coop served the purpose. Our nearest neighbors called their stump the “chopping block”. Needless to say, my brother Allen and I were never heart- broken to witness the roosters meeting their demise because to us one less chicken was cause for celebration! Later in the fall, the few roosters left in the coop were let out to roam free to feed in the grove of trees behind the farmyard. At nightfall, they would fly up and roost high up in the trees for safety. To gather them before winter, we would use flashlights to spot them. If they were close to the ground, one of us would have to climb up and grab them by the legs to retrieve them. One fall, one of the roosters man- aged to evade capture. We would see it in the daytime once in awhile, but could never find it at night. One Friday evening, I heard Mom mention to Dad she would butcher the thing for Sunday dinner if we could catch it. I decided to make a concerted effort to locate the wayward rooster. Going out into the grove early the next morning, just by luck I happened to spot the thing high up in one of trees, far out of reach. Taking the longest stick I could find and climbing up on one of the lower branches, I still couldn’t reach it to knock it out of the tree. Being some- what creative, I came up with the great- est idea. I could shoot the thing out of the tree with my trusty BB gun! If I shot it in the head, it would tumble right out of the tree, right? (Maybe not.) Sometimes the best-laid plans of men (and boys) do sometimes go astray. Loading up my Daisy Red Ryder BB gun, I headed back to the grove. My first shot apparently missed the head, but it must have been close, be- cause the rooster shifted position a bit. My second shot must have been close to the head also, because it shifted once again, but to my dismay it simply moved to a higher branch. At long range, BB guns aren’t all that accurate, but thinking the laws of chance and average would somehow come into play, I knew I would eventually hit my intended target and a good Sunday dinner would be had. After about the 30th shot, true to my expectations, the rooster flapped down to the ground. I had a bit of trouble chas- ing it down, but catch it I did! I immedi- ately put the rooster into a small cage by the chicken coop, and going back to the house, proudly announced “the great chicken catcher” had returned! On the outside chance Mom might not approve of my “catching” method, I thought it best not to mention it. Very late that afternoon, I watched without sadness as the rooster met its end. After dipping it into a pail of boiling water to facilitate removing the feathers, my mother took it into the house to cut it up in preparation for the great meal we would have on Sunday. It wasn’t long before I heard her outside calling for me. I had heard that tone of voice before, and I didn’t like the sound of it! “Jim, you get right over here,” she yelled. “What did you do to that rooster?” She must have had a pretty good idea, however, because she was hold- ing a bunch of BBs in her outstretched hand. “That thing has more BBs in it than if somebody had shot it with a shotgun,” she yelled. “There’s no way we can eat that thing. It’s full of BBs!” My thoughts of becoming known as “the great white hunter” quickly evapo- rated. I decided any response on my part would prove to be a total waste of words. I also knew there would certainly be some words from my dad later. He always looked forward to a good chicken dinner on Sundays, and this was one Sunday it apparently wasn’t going to happen! Much to my greatest surprise and total relief, my dad found the whole episode absolutely hilarious. My mother, however, failed to see the least bit of humor in it. Thinking back, that old rooster must have been so full of BBs on one side, it became so lopsided it couldn’t balance itself on that high branch any longer. I did manage to survive those “grow- ing up” days however, and lived to hunt another day, but it certainly wasn’t for chickens! The statements and comments in this article are my own and are based on information and references believed to be true and factual. If you have any questions or comments, please forward them to me in care of WWDR . 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