What Happens when Hens Eat Fruit Loops!!

 

First of all I have to say how grateful I am that Ole and I don’t live north of Fargo.  Those poor people are suffering unbelievably with the record setting flooding that’s taking place there.  At this point Interstate 29 is closed for 31 miles going north to Grand Forks due to water that is 6 to 8 inches deep over the highway.  Folks who have never had water issues before are inundated.  Here’s a link to a video that was uploaded to YouTube that will give you a good idea of what’s going on out there.  It’s awful.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o8TqY12etrY

Our river is up again due to last Saturday’s rains, but isn’t expected to reach the level that it did previously – so nothing to worry about THIS time.  It’s almost like living next to a bomb – you’re just waiting for it to explode but you never know quite when it’s going to happen. 

Anyway, on to more fun things.  Do you remember years ago when the farm supply stores used to have colored chicks available at Easter time?

I was cruising through a magazine the other day and ran across the above picture. I had no idea that this type of thing still went on anymore. Then I started doing a little research on the Internet and found a number of sites expounding on dyeing chicks before they’re hatched by injecting dye into the egg. Of course they assured the reader that the dye was nontoxic and caused no harm to the baby chicks. Okay – I guess science has probably come that far since I was a kid back in the dark ages. 

I so distinctly remember one Easter when we lived in Pierre, SD, back in those days when we were Road Camp Gypsies (tweak, tweak). My mother, brother and I were downtown doing some shopping shortly before Easter. On one of the corners was a farm supply store and the corner window was huge and held a wire cage that was full of baby chicks that were every color of the rainbow. They were all fuzzy and cute and peeping up a storm, making all kinds of racket begging for whatever it is that baby chicks beg for. And of course I wanted to bring one home so very much. Big Brother, who was “Mr. Scientist” even back then, explained to me that the poor baby chicks would die within a few days because the dye that had been used on them would be absorbed through their skin and kill them. And naturally, he was right. One of my friends did manage to convince her mother, and brought one of the baby chicks home. I think it lasted a week and then turned feet up and croaked. 

Now just why I would want a baby chick that would/could grow up into a mean chicken or maybe even a rooster is beyond me. I’ve told you previously about how I tangled with the old hens on my cousin’s farm, trying to get the eggs out from under and getting severely pecked. Then there’s the story about the rooster that I haven’t told you!! Hang on here – this gets real exciting!! 

Before we moved off the farm my mother used to raise chickens. And of course the only way you get eggs and more chickens is if you have a rooster. Well, the rooster that my mother had was a mean old bugger. He really knew how to protect his harem. I’d go outside to play and if this mean old rooster caught sight of me, he’d come tearing over and attack. He used his wings, his claws, his beak; whatever was handy at the moment. For the life of me I don’t know why he attacked me because I certainly was terrified of him and was very careful not to make any advances toward either him or his old hens. 

One day my mother was going to town and was taking some of the hens along to sell. She thought she might as well get rid of that mean rooster too, so I could have some peace. So she loaded up the hens and rooster in some crates and headed off for town, with me in tow of course. When we got back home I changed my clothes and was sent outside to play – IN PEACE – or so we thought. I didn’t get very far and around the corner came this mean old rooster flapping his wings and threatening me AGAIN. Apparently she had loaded the WRONG rooster – the mean old bugger was still at home and the wrong one was going into somebody’s stew pot. The next day we went to town again and this time she got rid of the RIGHT rooster!! So there – you old cock of the walk!! I bet you were a tough old bugger!! 

I used to ride the “flowered” pigs. Apparently there was one pig that had been bottle fed from the time it was a baby and as a result was quite a pet. He was always hanging around up by the house like a dog, waiting for someone to come out and pet him or scratch him or some such thing. I remember climbing on his back and he’d just poke along always careful not to go too fast or make quick turns so I wouldn’t fall off. My mother was such a camera bug in her lifetime, but unfortunately I have no picture of me riding the pig. If I remember correctly, his name was Peter. 

Then there was the white duck that would follow anyone around and fuss until you would pick him up. If you didn’t pick him up he’d grab your pant leg and lay down so that you would have to drag him along as you walked. This was NOT a dumb duck.

Now just how does my mind work, anyway? This all started out with colored baby chicks and went to mean roosters to flowered pigs to lazy ducks.

No wonder Ole says he’s given up trying to figure me out. HE should talk – humph!!

Love, Lena