Cowboy in the chicken business
by Julie Carter
I doubt that a “prize” egg from a “prize” chicken tastes
measurably different, but beauty, and perhaps taste, is in eyes and taste-buds
of the beholder.
One local cowboy has gone into the chicken business. Milton has six new-to-him
hens that he got from someone that raises prize chickens.
The criteria for these particular prize chickens is that
some other farmer-type cowboy leased a reputation rooster to put with his
run-of-the-mill hens and now he is labeled a prize chicken breeder. Seriously.
Milton
is only concerned that they lay eggs. So he built them a pen out of one of
those dog kennel kits with cyclone fencing and for a roof he added some old tin
he had lying around. Some neighbor gave him a nest box. He deemed this “good”
and is expecting prize eggs any day now. It takes so little to entertain a
cowboy.
Not one to watch chicken’s work, Milton went to rope. Upon arrival at his
roping partner’s place for practice, things went downhill fast. When his buddy came around the corner of the
barn he saw Milton’s ancient one-horse trailer laid over on its side and his
horse Boomer was firmly tied to a big oak tree. Boomer was bleeding a little
here and there.
Milton
was red in the face and mad as one of his prized wet hens. Seems during
saddling, Boomer had set back hard while tied to the trailer, pulling it
completely over on himself and on Milton.
Milton
managed to crawl out from under the trailer and commenced to have a serious
“discussion” with Boomer. His roping buddy wasn’t sure which of Boomer’s wounds
were from the trailer and which were from the “discussion.”
They tied a rope to the trailer, pulled it back up with the
truck and everybody's consensus was that before them now stood three of the
sorriest things a fella could have -- the truck, the trailer and the horse.
During the melee of Milton, Boomer and the trailer up-righting
event the roping steers were standing in the snake of the alley leading to the
chute, waiting to be roped.
When the ropers finally go to the arena, they found that one
of the steers had gotten down in the alley, neck twisted and nose in the dirt
while another steer backed over him. Nearly smothered, it took some cowboy CPR
(a unique form of encouragement), letting out the lead steer and a good bit of
cussing to get the downer on his feet.
He finally he got up, wobbled down to the catch pen and laid
back down. The following morning, you couldn't pick him out of the herd so
apparently the short period of oxygen deprivation didn’t cause much brain
damage. However with roping steers that is hard to judge.
Meanwhile back at the ranch, Ritadammit and Valentine,
resident dog and cat, were keeping a close watch on the new cluckers. Not quite
sure they liked sharing their domain with chickens and certainly not impressed
with their “prize-winning” status, the duo found some satisfaction in knowing
that at least the hens would never be housebroke.
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