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The Chicken Whisperer — 6 Comments

  1. Tammy,
    I grew up in Iowa too…….and had the pleasure??!! of learning how to help with the filling of the freezer event. There is nothing like the smell of chicken cleaning ( lovely singed ?feathers!! )
    Thanks for the trip down memory lane, B

  2. As you know, I grew up in Iowa, too and not far from you. I laughed at Barbara’s comment “lovely singed feathers”. It made me laugh because the smell is anything but lovely and could bring tears to my eyes it was so bad at times! My Grandma raised chickens on their farm east of Lehigh and I remember the warmth of the coop and the sort of fresh straw smell in there. And what I really remember about those chickens is how good her Sunday Chicken dinners were! How I would love to sit down to some real fried chicken that she had cooked!! Like Barb, said, thanks for the trip down memory lane.

  3. You two are funny – was it just us Iowans who remember the chickens of our youths? I was trying to remember the “kills” — my grandma S. was one of those who would wait until she saw how many showed up for Sunday dinner and then would send the men out to kill however many birds she needed to feed all of us (Dad had 9 siblings, many with 4 or more kids, so you never knew how many would be at the Sunday dinner table) – now, they *did* singe the feathers off but I was pretty young, so don’t really remember being a part of that. But, in my foster home, we just dipped the chickens in boiling water, and the feathers slid off pretty easily, so no burning smells there.

    Had to laugh at DD#1 & DD#2 yesterday, as they went in to hold the girls and the rooster got out. DD#2 was crying and bawling, scared to death that he was going to run away (the neighbors gave him to us, so she feared he’d go back to their house). DD#1 was trying to throw a milk crate over him, to catch him. When I went to find out what all the hollering was about, I calmly explained that they needed to each get on one side of the coop, open the door to the pen, and walk him in. They tried to argue with me, but once they did what I told them, General Ryann just strutted right back to his harem.

    And when everyone was calmed back down and heading off to do their other household chores, the son-man decided he’d go watch the little hen house, and boy did HE get a show! He kept yelling at the birds and telling Ryann to “quit pecking that red thing on the top of that chicken’s head and to get off of her.” Oy, this mom is not quite ready to explain the birds and the bees and the hens and the roosters to that boy just yet!!!

    Tammy

  4. I grew up in the a city in Michigan and I remember our neighbors had chickens in their back yard. When it was time for them to become dinner – their little heads would get chopped off and they would run around the yard until they fell over.

  5. OH WOW! Here I am “out of pocket” for just a few days and in the mean time new RESIDENTS have moved into that cool house out in the back! Y’all became chicken “farmers”…. ouch… OUCH! Gosh, I just stumbled over that sentence! There is SOMETHING amiss in that statement. Don’t sound right…. hmmmm….

    OHHHhhhhh…. ok ok… I got it! I got it! Chickens… livestock… Texas… ranch… THERE IS IT! RANCH!!! It’s the HARRISON RANCH… tucked away ever so neatly… in the Texas Hill Country. Yeeeaaaaaay! 🙂 tee hee…

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