The Cheese Stick

| 10/8/2014 4:14:00 PM

Tags: Mean Rooster, Kids, Farm, Poultry, Chickens, Humor, Jacqueline Wilt,

Life and Adventures at Diamond W RanchGrowing up, we had a flock of chickens on our farm. They supplied us with fresh eggs and meat. I loved those chickens. Except one. His name was Cheese. He was a huge white Leghorn rooster. He hated me, and I swear he had 6-inch-long spurs on his long yellow legs. The feeling was mutual.

As a little girl, one of my chores was to gather the eggs. I would go into the henhouse and stand on tippy-toe to reach up into the long row of nesting boxes to get the eggs. All the while I had to look over my shoulder with increasing frequency as Cheese circled and sized me up. As soon as he thought my guard was sufficiently down, he would charge me! Flapping wings, a screeching crow, and claws were all a blur as I would scream and run out of the henhouse. After swallowing my heart back down into my chest, the next several minutes were spent watching to see if the devil-spawn would exit the henhouse so I could sneak back in to finish my chore. It was an on-going battle.

Cheese looked like this:

So Cheese was like this


But I felt like he looked like THIS:

10/9/2014 4:29:39 PM

Your story was so familiar except I did not have the courage to fight back. We had an outhouse and Old Red would chase me back to the house, usually catching me because I would trip and fall in my haste to hurry and be looking over my shoulder. We went on vacation one time and a neighbor did the chores for us. Old Red was missing when we got back. Mom and I figured Dale did not take any guff from Old he was tough soup meat tho.

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