Lend me your ears! As today is September 11, I need to send a HAPPY PATRIOT DAY to our Aunt the Major, who is serving our country overseas. She arrived in Korea last Friday and has done tours in Iraq and in a country neighboring Afghanistan. She's my hero.
On this special occasion, I would like to take the opportunity to tell you what President Theodore Roosevelt had to say about the U.S.
"The things that will destroy America are prosperity-at-any-price, peace-at-any-price, safety first instead of duty, the love of soft living, and the get-rich-quick theory of life."
We found that quote in our KidsDiscover magazine that Nanny Moe sends to Sal. The magazine and Nanny Moe are both favorites.
The CFO and I were discussing SOFT LIVING just the other day. He was reading his beloved Country Living, the book that tells you how to live without things that flush in the night AND how survive on three kernels of corn and a slice of beef jerky (that you made) for a month. (No sarcasm here.) Anyway, it brought to mind for Sal one of the CFO's less than successful let's-get-back-to-nature schemes. Sal requested that I post it. Take three deep, cleansing breaths and continue.
One awful day, The CFO came to me and said, "Let's get chickens." (HA! You get where this is going, don't you?) "Please," I said to him, "tell me you're joking." My Aunt Marie used to have chickens and I knew that this was NOT a good thing.
Alas, nature boy was not joking and shortly thereafter thirteen chickens arrived at their new home, my backyard. The CFO sectioned off a corner of our acre lot and built a coop of sorts for the little feathered beasts. (PETA and I are not one on the chicken issue.) "See," he tells me,"they'll stay in here. The kids can feed them and gather the eggs. It will be like a science experiment. YOU WON'T HAVE TO DO A THING.
Right.
It took the chickens approximately ten minutes to escape the pen and run amuck in my backyard. They were impossible to keep fenced in. Houdini had nothing on these guys. They ran around the house. They ran under the house. The chickens even (ahem) crossed the road to visit the neighbors.
Did you know that chickens poop? The poopage was truly impressive. It was on the back porch, the front porch, the driveway, the shed, the front walk and even on my car. It was the most extensive collection of poop to be found outside of a petting zoo. The A.C. (moi) was not happy.
And then there was the Big Black Rooster. He was evil, that bird. The Big Black Rooster thought he owned the front walk and would attack anyone who questioned his ownership. That would have been me. We had a series of battles ending in one scratched arm, three pecked toes and a bird with a bat sized impression on the side of his head.
Louisville Slugger 1
Big Black Devil 0
And yet he lived.
I will admit to enjoying fresh eggs on occasion. Note to self: If you feed your chickens boiled crawfish heads, your omlettes will be orange. In the beginning, we didn't find that many eggs. Coincidentally, behind the coop there was a pile of wood left over from a remodeling job. (There is a connection. Wait for it.) Some of you may have a similar pile in your yards. It sits there for months, unmoved by nagging, bribery or tears. When the CFO finally decided to remove that cultural landmark he found a surprise waiting underneath. The Tiger, who was then five, wanted baby chicks and had been hiding the eggs underneath one of the boards, waiting for them to hatch. Twenty-four eggs. International treaties should ban the smell that hatched from those eggs.
I had thirteen chickens. No, wait. Now there were sixteen chickens! I bellowed at the CFO. "When did we acquire three more stinking, pooping chickens?" Pause. "We have sixteen chickens?" To this day I'm not sure where those birds came from and no one's talking.
By this time, they were pets, of course. They had names. Cutie, Gumbo, Sauce Picante. The children would have been devastated if anything were to happen to the little darlings. During this time, the CFO took a job in TENNESSEE leaving me alone with THOSE BIRDS. About the same time our neighbors from down the road moved LEAVING THEIR DOGS BEHIND. Funny thing about dogs. If you don't feed them, they get hungry. Hungry enough to, say, ATTACK CHICKENS.
So it was, on the morning of my birthday, I awoke to the GREAT CHICKEN MASSACRE. As I was the only adult in residence, I spent the morning of my birthday disposing of the remains. And that, my friends, is the reason I DON'T LIKE CHICKENS.
So, enjoy your Patriot Day and (Teddy Roosevelt's warnings aside) be grateful for our life of soft-living.
Scrambled eggs for breakfast, kids?
This is awesome, I will read it everyday. My dear you should write a book, it would be great!!!
Much Love,
"Nana"
Posted by: Senniah (AKA Nana) | September 11, 2007 at 10:54 AM