If'n ya ever live on a farm in the 40's, ya know pretty darn well that farm life is a adventure. Ya ain't got no neighbor kids to play with 'cause they live way the hell down the road at the next farm. Ya see, I lived on a farm when I was just a tot. Along with a bunch of other older boys, rang'n in age from 6 year old to 13 year old. I were the youngest. We had cows, chickens, pigs, a old ugly dog and that damn ol' mean cat. Plus any other critters we could drag home from out in the woods. Most of our adventures involved either one or all of the above mentioned animals/critters.
As I've told this story before, I had me a pet chicken. Ya see, I were the official chicken egg collector. Go out in the hen house and yank them eggs slap out from under them chickens. No chickens were harmed or harassed in this process. That's what ya do when ya live on a farm. Anyhows, there was this one chicken what would meet me at the hen house door every day. Follow me from cage to cage....talk'n to me.....chicken talk. We became best of friends in nuttin flat. If'n I strolled down to the creek look'n for a stray turtle to take home, that chicken was right there with me.....talk'n chicken talk. If'n I pump me a drink of water from the well, that chicken drink out the same drink'n can as me. We was tight...that chicken an' me.
Come night time when I go in the house for supper, that chicken wait for me on the back porch to come back outside an' play chicken games. This go on far a long time....me an' that chicken. One Sunday morn'n, I cain't find my best friend.....that chicken. Where the hell is my chicken? I look all over the place....cain't find my chicken. Come dinner time, all us kids, mom's an' pop's gather round the kitchen table. The preacher man had come to visit. There in the middle the table is a big ol' platter stack full of fresh "fried in the skillet" chicken. That was the last time I ever see my "pet" chicken.
Yesterday I were all excitis bout go'n to the golf ball swak'n place. Ya see, I done re-modified that twice modified golf'n stick what Barney give me. But bout the time I were ready to go, the wind came up blow'n like hell. Ain't talk'n bout no little 15 mile a hour breeze, we talk'n 25 plus mile a hour wind. Dust sand an' stuff blow all over the place. I ain't go'n. Today looks a whole bunch better. Just a slight breeze blow'n out there. So, that's the plan for this afternoon.....go golf ball swak'n.
In the mean time, I got lots of tools an' stuff to pick up out there on "da porch".
Here is where we stand on the "mesquite eagle" project.
Ok....that's it for now.....Laters.
The tops of the waves from the beach are landing somewhere around Sinton today.
ReplyDeleteWe didn't live on a farm, but I had the same "chicken" experience you did. We did live in a rural area. "Blackie" followed me everywhere. I was about 7 years old. He ended up on our table. Times were hard and there were kids to feed.
ReplyDeleteDid I ever tell ya bout the time....I raised a chicken puppy an' a cat puppy together. You talk bout a hoot. They was the funniest thing ya did see.
DeleteI e-mailed you about roughing up and beatin the cat, we are cat lovers here, it sounded like you had a very sparse childhood and tot hood..Too bad I was also raised on the farm, the pets were treated well got to sleep in the front of the place where the freezer and washer was only in the pantry when it was cold the cat was allowed in a box in the kitchen and put out in the early morning..If it was too cold he was allowed by the stove.We were never allowed to beat anything but had respect for animals..Of course our animals that were meant for consumption we were never allowed to get close to because we knew they were meant for the winter meals of beef, chicken(s) and turkey(s) too...Sounds like you had a very hard scrapple life, I read your blogs and know your Momma passed or was gone, that is hard, I know lost my Mom, we had to move into the city and it got to be very very harsh, got to go with my Grandmother on my Mom's side she was wonderful big big city, but always stuck with my Grandmother and protected and educated..Sorry your youth time was not loving and kind..but please don't perpetrate that it is ok to beat a cat, because it is NOT. okay? stick to fishing and swakking those golf balls!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
ReplyDeleteSorry again Annon, but you just don't git it. I never said I "beat" the cat, or as a matter of fact, I never harmed any animal in any way. We played, rough yes, but we played. And yes, it's ok to play rough with a cat. They like it much better than you do.
DeleteWOW. Jus' can't leave it alone, huh?
ReplyDeleteMy choice of words I rekon....
DeleteAnd hides behind Anonymous also. Sounds like personal issues to me.
ReplyDeleteI don't mind someone using Anonymous to comment, but when I'm attacked for something that was misinscrewed/misinterpreted (what ever that word is), I take offense.
DeleteHey Billy; ain't bloggin fun?
DeleteGene
In the 40's I had a summer job to gather the eggs. Once in a while a hen would stand up and start flapping her wings and scare the life outta me. But it was the roosters that were the most frightening to me. Then you had the cow plop her foot right into the milk bucket. Farm kids today probably don't have a clue what they are missing.
ReplyDeleteGyp, they sure do! Only these days, they gather the eggs with their iPads. Other than that, it ain't all that much different!
DeleteMy first encounter on my new job of chief egg collector was a big ol' rooster what flog hell out me. But mom's was there an' she took care of that ol' mean rooster. Rooster ain't the best eat'n, but under the circumstances, it were just fine with me.
DeleteI weren't allowed to milk the cows. Don't know if it were 'cause my hands were too small or that I would rather ride a cow puppy than milk mama cow.
ReplyDeleteYou have been doing some really funny blogs. Anon should go hide under a rock somewhere. I don't see that you abused anything. Just keep doing what your doing. You have plenty of blogger friends here. Thanks for bringing a smile to my face.
This comment has been removed by the author.
ReplyDeleteDo you enjoy being rough housed, what a thing to say about playing with a cat, dog, farm animal...I don't think you would enjoy somebody roughhousing with you, many kitty cats are tiny and one could break their little legs, think about it? I am anonymous cause I don't like hate mail and threats at all..I advocate for animals and against domestic violence and it starts when one is young and torments animals, it truly does...You have a very different way of expressing yourself about rough housing with animals, in Oregon it would be considered aggravated animal abuse which the state has the strongest laws against that in all of the usa.I live in washington state and they do too. Your blogs used to be entertaining but not anymore when you think it okay to rough house with animals, I am sure you meant to say play with them, but you did not!!!!!!!!!!!!!I will never hide under a rock anyplace, I doubt the late Ben Woods would roughhouse with his beloved cats at all, was it Tiny and I can't remember the other name of his cat..He did not think it funny to rough house anything, he could stick up for himself and his family but in a Texan gentlemanly manner...Since you spend a lot of time in the southwest part of the country please be kind and gentle to animals, they inhabit the earth and have a right to live peacefully among us humans!!!!!!!!!!!!!
ReplyDeleteIf you don't like it here, go read some other mamby-pamby blog. Jesus. The nerve of some people's kids!
DeleteGene, who is proud of his name
Uh, Gene, there may be a subtle problem here; other people's kid's VOTE and they PROCREATE!
ReplyDeleteWell, guess it's time to quit pouring gas on the fire. He/she gets his/her jollies from all the attention. Keep up the good work, Bill. We love ya, man!
DeleteGene, who knows when to quit poking little people in the side.
Anonymous,
ReplyDeleteYou need to cut 'Ol Billy Bob some slack! What he did to that mean cat was done over 65 YEARS ago when he was 5 years old - NOT last week. If you want to get on someones case then get on to his parents or grandparents when you meet them after your dead but leave Billy Bob alone now. He has lived his life to this point without becoming a serial killer there is a VERY good chance that he never will become one.
We love Billy Bob's blog! We are kind, gentle, loving, educated people, and we think Billy Bob is a GREAT guy! We will continue to read and enjoy his antics, his tongue-in-cheek stories, his truth from the heart stories and have no doubts this is a good man. We never interpreted his childhood stories about growing up with a "mean cats" as a person who was not anything but a typical little boy with harmless mischief on his mind.
ReplyDelete