Here’s another story from my mother.
My younger sister was eight years younger than I was. She was a tiny girl, barely tall enough to reach the latch on the chicken house door. But she managed to never let a chicken escape.
If Little Sister was not in the house, Mother could look out the back door and through the window of the chicken house. There she would see Little Sister squatting patiently. Maybe half an hour later, if she looked at just the right time, she could see Little Sister pick up a chicken.
There would be no squawking, no wild running, no excitement. Just two little hands caressing a chick. Once after she was a little older, a friend gave Little Sister some ducks. The weather turned cold. By then the chicken house had been dismantled. Baby ducks had to be brought into the house in a big box. They were kept in the box until the weatherman turned on some heat. Little Sister raised them all. That summer a frequent sight was Little Pied Piper leading a troop of ducks across the yard. They followed faithfully wherever she went.
Fall came. Downey ducks had matured. The time had come to fulfill their ducky destiny, but Little Sister loved them too much. What to do? Very often Daddy bought or sold livestock with Mr. Johnson. Little Sister decided to do some dealing, too. The next time Mr. J. stopped; she was ready with two questions. (1) Will you buy my ducks? (2) Will you promise not to kill my ducks? Out of the mouths of babes! What questions! Dealers don’t buy unless they plan to resell or use the meat in some profitable way.
How did Mr. J. answer? Never hesitating his answers were (1) Yes, I will buy. (2) Yes, I will promise not to kill them. What kindness! Mr. J. Lived on a farm. A small stream meandered through his Meadows, so we had an ideal spot for the ducks. They became a permanent part of his farm.
The next year the same friend brought Little Sister a large grocery bag half-full of goose eggs. To this day Mother has never eaten (at least not knowingly) a goose egg. What to do? Well, Daddy said there is a hatchery just a few miles north of us. Maybe they would set these eggs. Little Sister was ecstatic. She just KNEW they would. And yes, they would hatch them for a fee. Daddy supplied the fee. Several days later Little Sister was in the goose business.
Indiana being what it is, warm days again turned cool. Geese had to be housed in the kitchen for several days. Little Sister was diligent about keeping their box clean, so mother didn’t object to much. Soon the geese were outside and gobbling all the food they could find. They were a noisy lot and announced the arrival of everyone with loud honking. Little Sister had them pretty well trained before the summer was over. All too soon, it seemed to her, the geese were grown and it was time to sell. Little Sister knew exactly what to do. She would call Mr. J. And ask two questions: (1) with you by my geese? (2) will you keep my geese?
Mr. J. was ready with answers because he had seen the geese often during the summer. (1) Yes, I will buy your geese. Then before little sister could ask the second question, answered it. “But I won’t keep them. They will have to move on.” No, Little Sister wasn’t much upset about that. The money she received soothed whatever ruffled feelings she might have had.
Another year, another bird. Two of them in fact. These were college birds. For a class experiment one of the girls hatched three leghorn chickens. Then she had a disposal problem. The prof kept them in his utility room until his wife ordered them out. Out!
So one weekend Sister carted them home to Little Sister. One little bird was sadly crippled. After a few days, it died. The other two grew into handsome white roosters. They sat on the board fence and announced the dawn to anyone who otherwise might have missed it.
Again the cycle of seasons. Again the question: what to do? Little Sister could not bear to eat her pets nor to have anyone else eat them. Only two! Can’t we keep them? Against her better judgment Mother finally consented. So the two grew older and tougher while Mother grew wiser. Have you heard of the pecking system? These two, whose names elude me, became proficient at flopping Mother any time she went into the barnyard. They had a definite system. If both roosters were present, Rooster A flopped while Rooster B stood by, looking innocent. Let A be out of sight, B would flop with a vengeance.
Mother carried a broom and did some “flopping” too, but she could not train them to leave her alone. They were smart enough not to attack her front side, but oh, that unprotected back! So the two roosters grew older and tougher and tougher and tougher. Mother would not have cooked them even if someone had dressed them for her.
Billy Zaugg was the neighborhood repair man. He lived alone and seemed to be a forlorn character. One day he was called to repair a roof. Then Mother had a bright idea. Since Billy did his own cooking, why not give him the roosters? Why not indeed! No! No! Billy would not cook Little Sister’s pets. He said they would be delicious stewed a while and then fried, but the answer was No! No! Extra shingles were kept in the barn so mother walked along with Billy to show him where they were. Mother was not smart; she did not carry her broom. The roosters walked along, too. They stayed a few steps behind. Mother forgot about her own behind when she bent over to get the shingles for Billy.
Number I rooster saw his chance and flopped her good. She turned to swat him with her shingle. Number II saw his chance. Oh, what flopping! Billy stood by laughing hilariously. Now he knew why to Mother meant when she said the roosters were mean. Now he was willing to take them, but he was sure they were too wild to be caught. That was all the encouragement Mother needed. She picked up some string and a couple of gunny sacks. Then she called the dog. Dixie was smarter than the roosters. Billy soon had them tied up and ready to move.
Mother sighed. What a blessed relief!