One hot summer night we were all laying up in the house 'long about 11 o'clock, when we heard a ruckus out by the hen house. Old blue, Grandpa Kader's best hound, was baying to the world, that something was wrong, and Buster and Pepper were helping him right along. Rightly figuring that something was going on at the hen house, Grandpa grabbed his double-barreled 12-gauge loaded with double-ought buck shot and headed on the run. Me and Bo Beasley were right behind him. I had the kerosene lantern and just followed Grandpa. His nightshirt was flapping around his knees and his heels were flashing in the lantern light. Buster was loping along with us and his big ole ears were flapping with each stride he made.
When we got to the hen house, they were all screeching and squawking. Grandpa shushed us to be quiet, like whatever was in the hen house didn't know we were there. Grandpa eased into the chicken yard with Buster right along. I was holding the lantern high so'es Grandpa could see and I was just behind Buster. Grandpa eased the double barrels of the shotgun through the door of the chicken house and was trying to look into see what was fussing all the chickens.
I don't know if you have had any dealings with a hound dog, but they have got about the best nose ever put on any animal for tracking man or beast. But that nose is about as cold as an ice cube. As Grandpa bent over to look in the chicken house, Buster stuck that cold nose under his nightshirt and kid of nuzzled him a little bit higher up. Grandpa screeched about as loud as the chickens and let loose with both barrels of that 12 gauge.
When the white chicken feathers started to settle, it looked like we were standing in a snow storm. We plucked and larded chickens for the next 2 days. And Grandma Estelle finally got that down mattress she had been pining for.
- Bob Gurkin
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment