Tuesday, January 27, 2015

Billy The Rooster...


I’m ending my Down on the Farm Week with a repost from 2011.  This was so much fun, I’ll do it again, maybe a spring flower week, that would be something to look forward to in a few weeks.  ~ Jan

 This picture of me was taken when I was probably about three years old.

We had just moved to the country and Billy was mother’s pet rooster.  Some of my earliest memories are of Billy, he was a gentle soul that mother nurtured from a chick.  

She was an animal lover, always outside animals, though, we never had anything in the house except her canaries.  There were always dogs and cats to play with, chickens, too and the occasional white duck wandering around our yard, and obviously this rooster.

At the risk of sounding like Ma and Pa Kettle, I have to tell you about Billy and how I remember, to this day, him roosting on the back of our couch at night.

Mother was a clean freak, everything was always pristine in our house, but she loved this pet rooster and was afraid a fox would get into the chicken house and kill him, so every night she would spread layers of newspapers on the back of the couch, bring Billy inside and he would roost on the sofa.  I wish I could talk to her about this again, seeing this picture brought back such vivid memories because even though I was really young I remember Billy so well. She must have gotten up at the crack of dawn to let him outside, because no doubt he started crowing when the sun came up.

This must sound odd to you, but remember, it was a simple life, living in our little house by the ditch , and it seemed perfectly normal to have a rooster in our living room.  I told you earlier about  Aunt Idalene who always had baby pigs on her back porch, and how I used to feed them with a baby bottle, and I remember going to a great aunt’s house and she had baby chickens underneath her kitchen table, with chicken wire around the table legs so they couldn’t get out.

I know, that’s a bit much, but she was probably doing that to keep them warm. I remember thinking how awful it was, that old woman with all those baby chickens under the table.  But that aunt was a little bat shit crazy, too. She WAS Ma Kettle.



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