Daddy built two chicken houses to supplement his U.S. Postal Letter Carrier's income
although he always joked that he built them to keep his three sons out of trouble. We
would receive day old chicks, feed and water them for eight to nine weeks, and send
them to market as four pound fryers. The houses would stand empty for seven to ten
days as we shoveled manure, bought and spread a blanket of new shavings before
twelve thousand chicks arrived for a repeat cycle.
Our poultry houses were not as secure as residential homes and rightfully so. After
all, we are talking about chickens not people. However, these chicks were valuable to
the McDonald family. They represented a substantial investment of time, money, and
hard, manual labor. The home invaders these chicks faced were villains with a
natural instinct to kill. A fox, snake, rat, raccoon, opossum, stray cat, or stray dog
could bankrupt a fryer cash crop. More dangerous than a chicken eating, wild animal
was the massive death factor his invasion could cause. You see, chickens are dumb
birds who fear anything and everything. A wild animal could cause a chicken
stampede. Chickens would continue to run and run to one end or to one corner of the
house regardless of standing room. Bottom line: they would continue to pile on top
of each other and suffocate themselves. Thanks to Zeke, we lost no chickens to any of
the previously mentioned varmints.
Just as Zeke walked with no fear among docile animals, so did he rule over the Wild
Kingdom of McDonald Community. Before the adoption of Zeke, Gary, Ken, and I sat
on our front porch and listened to the foxes yip and howl. After Zeke the puppy
became a dog, he would trot into the woods when he heard these wild barks.
Eventually, these howl sounds became extinct. Zeke was very effective. In the world
of foxes, Zeke was King Of the Road.
During the summers, Zeke would sometimes come out of the woods with a swollen
head. His head would be so large that he could not fit it into a five gallon bucket. Yet,
in his mouth would be a five foot snake D.O.A. (dead on arrival.) Snake versus Zeke,
no match; in the reptile world, Zeke was King Of the Road.
Our Chihuahua Brownie hated rats. If she found an opening to a den, she would dig
and dig until all one could see was the tip of her tail sticking out of the rat hole. Yet,
when Brownie shifted herself into reverse, she backed out with a rat bigger than
herself in her mouth. Zeke merely sat and watched all this action apathetically.
However, it was not until after Brownie's death, did Zeke become a rat hunter. Unlike
Brownie, Zeke was too large to go down into a rat hole; he just dug until there was a
rat or until there was no more hole. No "dirty rat" could hide from Zeke. After all, in
the rodent world, Zeke was King Of the Road.
The raccoon is pound for pound the most clever ferocious fighter in the small animal
kingdom. If any doubts, just listen to Jerry Clawer's monologue of Knock 'me Out,
John. I am sure Marcel Ledbetter would agree. In fact, years earlier a raccoon almost
drowned our black dog Smoky until Daddy waded into the creek and knocked the
raccoon out with a lightered knot. It was not until Zeke came home one morning and
threw a seventeen pound raccoon on our front door steps did I think the Southern
'Coon had a match. Yes, once again, Zeke was King Of the Road.
The state of North Carolina has more opossums than Texas has cows. The opossum
is perhaps the most crafty four-legged coward in nature. An opossum's diet consists
mostly of dead animals. What a wimp! He preys only on the dead. Hence, he ate no
small chicks. An opossum would only invade our chicken houses to eat chicken feed.
Yet, he could be a costly killer to the chicken farmer as he scoots across a chicken
house floor frightening chickens into a deadly mass smothering. Yet, when truly
challenged to stand up and fight, an opossum simply rolls over and "plays dead",
commonly referred to as "playing possum". He accomplishes this deceit by slowing
his body functions and vital signs down to nearly zero. His opponent, thinking he has
conquered the opossum, simply stops his attack and moves on to another fight. The
slick, 'ole opossum gives his enemy time to distance himself and just simply stands up
and shuffles away, looking for another opportunity to play his con game. Gullible was
not in Zeke's vocabulary. An opossum could stop his heart and walk away from
another opponent but he never got up and escaped via deceit after Zeke broke all of
his ribs. Zeke did not "play possum". Furthermore, Zeke rolled over and played dead
for no one because Zeke was King Of the Road.
The McDonald family never owned a cat since the bird's natural enemy is a cat. A
chicken, of course is nothing but a bird that cannot fly. Speaking of natural enemies,
"fighting like cats and dogs" is a proven reality and not just a phrase. We never lost a
chick to a cat because Zeke probably killed enough cats in his lifetime to fill an eight
foot pick-up bed with dead felines. Nine lives were never enough for a cat that
crossed Zeke's path. Just like the opossum, broken ribs were usually the probable
cause of death. In the feline world, Zeke was King Of the Road. He was also a
chicken's best friend and a precious childhood memory of growing up in
Rockingham, North Carolina - a small textile town in the South in the ' 50s & ' 60s.
To be continued ...
although he always joked that he built them to keep his three sons out of trouble. We
would receive day old chicks, feed and water them for eight to nine weeks, and send
them to market as four pound fryers. The houses would stand empty for seven to ten
days as we shoveled manure, bought and spread a blanket of new shavings before
twelve thousand chicks arrived for a repeat cycle.
Our poultry houses were not as secure as residential homes and rightfully so. After
all, we are talking about chickens not people. However, these chicks were valuable to
the McDonald family. They represented a substantial investment of time, money, and
hard, manual labor. The home invaders these chicks faced were villains with a
natural instinct to kill. A fox, snake, rat, raccoon, opossum, stray cat, or stray dog
could bankrupt a fryer cash crop. More dangerous than a chicken eating, wild animal
was the massive death factor his invasion could cause. You see, chickens are dumb
birds who fear anything and everything. A wild animal could cause a chicken
stampede. Chickens would continue to run and run to one end or to one corner of the
house regardless of standing room. Bottom line: they would continue to pile on top
of each other and suffocate themselves. Thanks to Zeke, we lost no chickens to any of
the previously mentioned varmints.
Just as Zeke walked with no fear among docile animals, so did he rule over the Wild
Kingdom of McDonald Community. Before the adoption of Zeke, Gary, Ken, and I sat
on our front porch and listened to the foxes yip and howl. After Zeke the puppy
became a dog, he would trot into the woods when he heard these wild barks.
Eventually, these howl sounds became extinct. Zeke was very effective. In the world
of foxes, Zeke was King Of the Road.
During the summers, Zeke would sometimes come out of the woods with a swollen
head. His head would be so large that he could not fit it into a five gallon bucket. Yet,
in his mouth would be a five foot snake D.O.A. (dead on arrival.) Snake versus Zeke,
no match; in the reptile world, Zeke was King Of the Road.
Our Chihuahua Brownie hated rats. If she found an opening to a den, she would dig
and dig until all one could see was the tip of her tail sticking out of the rat hole. Yet,
when Brownie shifted herself into reverse, she backed out with a rat bigger than
herself in her mouth. Zeke merely sat and watched all this action apathetically.
However, it was not until after Brownie's death, did Zeke become a rat hunter. Unlike
Brownie, Zeke was too large to go down into a rat hole; he just dug until there was a
rat or until there was no more hole. No "dirty rat" could hide from Zeke. After all, in
the rodent world, Zeke was King Of the Road.
The raccoon is pound for pound the most clever ferocious fighter in the small animal
kingdom. If any doubts, just listen to Jerry Clawer's monologue of Knock 'me Out,
John. I am sure Marcel Ledbetter would agree. In fact, years earlier a raccoon almost
drowned our black dog Smoky until Daddy waded into the creek and knocked the
raccoon out with a lightered knot. It was not until Zeke came home one morning and
threw a seventeen pound raccoon on our front door steps did I think the Southern
'Coon had a match. Yes, once again, Zeke was King Of the Road.
The state of North Carolina has more opossums than Texas has cows. The opossum
is perhaps the most crafty four-legged coward in nature. An opossum's diet consists
mostly of dead animals. What a wimp! He preys only on the dead. Hence, he ate no
small chicks. An opossum would only invade our chicken houses to eat chicken feed.
Yet, he could be a costly killer to the chicken farmer as he scoots across a chicken
house floor frightening chickens into a deadly mass smothering. Yet, when truly
challenged to stand up and fight, an opossum simply rolls over and "plays dead",
commonly referred to as "playing possum". He accomplishes this deceit by slowing
his body functions and vital signs down to nearly zero. His opponent, thinking he has
conquered the opossum, simply stops his attack and moves on to another fight. The
slick, 'ole opossum gives his enemy time to distance himself and just simply stands up
and shuffles away, looking for another opportunity to play his con game. Gullible was
not in Zeke's vocabulary. An opossum could stop his heart and walk away from
another opponent but he never got up and escaped via deceit after Zeke broke all of
his ribs. Zeke did not "play possum". Furthermore, Zeke rolled over and played dead
for no one because Zeke was King Of the Road.
The McDonald family never owned a cat since the bird's natural enemy is a cat. A
chicken, of course is nothing but a bird that cannot fly. Speaking of natural enemies,
"fighting like cats and dogs" is a proven reality and not just a phrase. We never lost a
chick to a cat because Zeke probably killed enough cats in his lifetime to fill an eight
foot pick-up bed with dead felines. Nine lives were never enough for a cat that
crossed Zeke's path. Just like the opossum, broken ribs were usually the probable
cause of death. In the feline world, Zeke was King Of the Road. He was also a
chicken's best friend and a precious childhood memory of growing up in
Rockingham, North Carolina - a small textile town in the South in the ' 50s & ' 60s.
To be continued ...
| Chapter 7 A Chicken's Best Friend written by Bob McDonald |
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