I'm sure glad that I speak "Seamus"
And I thought Sanskrit was hard!
I usta hate White Leghorns. My Uncle Walt got the big ideas, then went to town and smoked R. G. Dunn cigars, leaving the work for the rest of us.
That included buying a ton of chickens to raise out there in the great beyond of the open Range of Eastern Colorado. A tree here, a tree there, otherwise .... nothing. Unless you count zillions of coyotes, Antelope, rattlesnakes, and a lovely woman on the next farm/ranch. OK OK, she was fifteen and I was "damn near" fourteen, but does that stop love? Am I digressing? Gee, that's never happened.
Butt I digress... I guess you can see where my finger's mind is focused.
So we had these tons of White Leghorns AND the stickiest, gooeyist, glue like gumbo mud to be found anywhere.
So when those devils were three or four months old, and we let them out for sunshine AFTER the deluge, they got their stinkin feet all goo-muddy and then it dried.
You want a mess? Be on the prairie in the late forties. One four room old adobe house, no electricity, no phone, bad alkali in the soil ruined shallow wells,so we had to haul water from town.
But NOW, armed with ball-peen hammers, My Mom and my Aunt Viola and I had to witness dozens and dozens of the White Devils flopping and squawking all over the place, unable to walk. (and attracting hawks high overhead, circling)
So we'd catch one of the devils, try to hold it on knees and tap those devil feet to loosen the mud gobs, all the while the basserts are peckin away at you and if you weren't careful, they spear you with the (white) Leg Horn!
I hated those basserts.
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