I vaguely remember the chicks, I must have been very young. I remember a cardboard box, a light bulb for heat, and lots and lots of peeping. Peep peep peep peep peep peep. That’s where the marshmallow variety get their name, you know. The live ones are noisy! Little fluffy chicks grow to egg laying hens. Everyone knows that fertilized eggs are better, so we of course had to have a rooster. And this is where the sweet Easter story takes a nasty turn.
I was all dressed up in my Easter finery, and in those days it included everything from white patent leather shoes to a glorious hat and white gloves to match. I followed my mom out to the shed where the animals were kept.
Apparently, my finery appeared a threat to the rooster, who proceeded to attack me and knock me to the ground. Let me rephrase that. The hen manure covered shed floor. There that’s more descriptive. The rooster proceeded to attack me in all my manure covered Easter finery until I was quite the sight.
Man was my mom mad. In a perfect world she would have channeled that anger toward the rooster, but alas, it was the little girl that didn’t belong in the hen house that faced her wrath. I ruined Easter! I ruined my finery! Why oh why did I follow my mom into the hen house!
You would think my parents would re-think Easter gifts, but oh no…
2 comments:
Cute story. Poor Aunt Sue.
PS Disregard question previously commented because I can see the leelou blog icon on your page.
Awesome story. Since we lived on a "farm" we always inherited my town-raised cousins' Easter gifts when they got too big. Man, did my dad hate it when my uncle would show up with rabbits.
I like the chocolate ones. :)
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