We had a little garden where we grew what we could. We also raised some chickens to have fresh eggs every day and chicken to eat now and then. For the chickens to have a place to roost, Dad had put up chicken wire to fence off a part the back area of the inside of the garage and put in a few roosts and some nesting boxes. On the outside, he put up a three-sided chicken wire fence around an area next to the Rylie-Kleberg Road side of the garage which, with that wall of the garage being the fourth side, formed our chicken yard. He fashioned a chicken-sized opening in the garage wall a few inches above ground level and a ramp on each side for the chickens to leave or enter the roosting area. There was a slate to cover the opening and grooves on each side so that the slate could be moved up or down as needed.
Each morning, the slate was removed and the chickens were let out into their yard and, before the sun went down, the chickens were shooed back into the roosting area and the slate was put securely in place covering the opening. This duty usually fell to me. It was no problem in the morning as the chickens wanted to get out after a night of being cooped up. Getting them to go back in was another thing altogether and that's where I learned a prime lesson.
While putting them to roost one day, one of the hens just wouldn't cooperate. Every other chicken had gone in to the roost but, just as she got to the opening, she jumped off the ramp to the side and ran away from the ramp. Several times I thought I had her ready to go inside, but each time, she jumped and ran. Sometimes, some of the other chickens would come back out and I'd have to chase them inside before I could get back to that darned hen. Finally, I was tired of her uncooperativeness. The next time she got near the opening, I kicked her behind, knocking her inside. Job completed successfully!
When I went into the house, I was asked what had taken me so long and I described what had taken place. I was scolded and told that I should not kick the chickens because that could hurt them....and I had. The next morning, there was a dead hen in the roosting area. It was her. Dad cut her open and showed me how there had been an egg ready to be laid and it was ruptured. My kick had been deadly, I cried, was given a spanking and told to NEVER kick another chicken or, for that matter, anything I could hurt. What I found totally fascinating was the series of eggs in the track ranging in size down to little more than a speck. Dad had pointed out that each would have been breakfast or another chicken which we could have enjoyed as dinner. It wasn't just a chicken I had killed, but several meals I had wasted.
As in any country area, there were snakes around. One day, I decided to venture into the weed patch between the house and the well. After going only a few feet into the patch, I spotted a snake moving through the weeds about waist high to me. It was close enough that I could have reached out and touched it. I didn't see his head and didn't take time to look for it as I got away from it as quickly as I could, maybe faster. Mom was working in the garden and, having seen my sudden movement (not my usual movement style), she asked why. When I told her, she came running to see if I'd been bitten. She had me point to where the snake was and went looking for it. We didn't find it.
There was another snake that wasn't so fortunate. Once, while Mom was moving some things around in the garage, she screamed, "SNAKE!" and grabbed a hoe. She went after that snake with a vengeance, one hand poking with the hoe and the other hand tossing things aside tracking the snake. It made a break to get out the front of the garage....big mistake. Mom whacked and chopped that snake countless times. When she was finished, it was cut into chunks about 2 inches long the entire length of its body, three or four feet in length. The whole carcass was held together by narrow strips of skin as her chops had not been enough to completely separate the chunks.
She hung it across the top of the chicken yard fence and told us not to get too close to it but to watch it and tell her right away if it starts coming back together. She had heard that snakes needed to be kept out in the sun for a few hours before it was really dead and, if the sun went down before it was fully dead, it would pull itself back together and be as good as new. Not being too sure I believed her and not being too sure it couldn't happen, I watched that snake until after sundown. One thing bothered me: the chickens wouldn't come near the area where the snake hung. It must have really been dead; the carcass was still there the next morning.
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