"Dale P" wrote in message
m...
"Srgnt Billko" wrote in message
news:uuIYj.4255$Uf1.578@trndny08...
have been on my mind. I've raised a variety of them over the years. As a
kid the first chicken coop I recall was about 8' by 8' and tall enough to
walk into. It had several inches of wood chips covering the floor, a
waterer, feed trough, and a crushed shell dispenser. There were several
poles from wall to wall about 4' off the floor for a roost. Those
chickens had access to a fenced in yard. In later years I had a similar
coop but no fence. Those chickens were allowed to roam - what they call
"free-range" today. They would be out picking at whatever growth appealed
to them and worms most of the day. But as the sun started to go down they
would go inside to roost. Which brings me to my point: there was nothing
vengeful or evil about them "coming home to roost". It was actually the
opposite - returning to their safe spot. So how did we get from that to
the evil connotation implied by newscasters for that same expression ?




Ah, the memories. We moved to a different farm in 1953, and I was 3 years
old. For several years we had the chicken coop with a small opening
(doggy door of today would be the example), and when the hens were in at
night to roost, we would close that opening. This was to keep out
nocturnal predators out. I remember the old hens being followed by a
brood of baby chicks in the spring and summer. Anyway, the coyotes
started coming up through the corn field and snatching a chicken as they
were out on their daily free range romp. Dad had to erect an open pen of
chicken wire for the day time outings. The chickens did not seem to know
the difference as long as they were well fed. It was my job to collect
the eggs, and I hated doing it as some of the old hens were kind of mean
and did not want me to take their eggs away!! Sometimes on Sunday
morning, Mom would pick out a few of the younger chickens to be honored
guests at Sunday dinner. My older sister's job was to chop their heads
off and bleed them out. My job was to pluck them. The smell was awful as
we dipped them into hot water to loosen the feathers!! Mom wanted them
picked clean, with only a few pinfeathers left when I would finally be
done to her approval. The fried chicken, mashed potato and chicken gravy
dinner was the best ever!!

Later,

Dale P

Oh those "nocturnal predators" chuckle I can remember sitting in the
coup in the dark with a flashlight taped to the barrel of a .22 waiting for
the sound of a rat getting in the feed trough. It you think those hens were
nasty - I wanted to show roosters in the county fair so we built another
coup with individual cages in it. I kept a barred plymouth rock in one and
fed him real well to fatten him up. But he must have gotten a little horny
because he would attack my hand so bad I had to wear a leather glove. I
have a sick hen so we put a divider in - except we made the mistake of using
fiberboard - the rooster went right through the 1/2" board and the hen ended
up real dead. I tried the head chopping deal a couple times but I couldn't
stand them flopping around with the heads off so they finally let me off the
hook on that duty. Thanks for reminding me of that smell (not) chuckle