Monday, February 15, 2010
I spent a lot of time on my grandparents farm as a kid growing up. There was always things to do. And if we got bored grandma would find a chore or two for us. One I wasn't real crazy about was getting the eggs from the chicken house. There always seemed to be one or two hens that just didn't cotton to someone sticking thier hand into the nestbox with them. Some could get pretty wicked with thier beaks.
You wouldn't think such a little critter could get the best of you. But there was a few that I would give up on after my hand starting getting bloody. I'm not real proud of that fact. I guess it's a male ego thing. In the end them awnry ones got eaten eventually. I guess I can take some satisfaction in that fact.
Picture is of grandma Buck with her chickens. X.