Down on the Farm. Part 1

An uncle of mine used to refer to my sister and I as "the farm girls." I always found that kind of amusing because we never lived on a farm, nor did we possess farm type animals. I grew up in the country, but this did not, in any way mean I was a hardy animal loving girl. To this day I am still a bit unnerved by cats, horses, and owls (listed in order of creepiness).

Later on in my childhood experience, as a 5th grader, my class grew chickens under the incubator. We were all allowed to take one home following their hatching. Not having much experience with animals outside of an outdoor dog, I bravely took my chick home from school. We kept Fred in a box, and I encouraged my brother and sister to pick him up as I didn't really care to hold him at all for fear of being pecked at. That evening Mom and Dad said that chickens surely do not belong in the house so my Father made a "coop" for Fred. I put the word coop in quotation marks because I want you to hear the sarcasm in my voice. For by definition, coop is a cage or pen confining poultry. The coop my Dad fashioned was not as confining as it should have been that night. The next morning all that was left of Fred was a tipped over coop and a few residual feathers. I am actually laughing out loud at the thought of it all. I didn't even want to touch that chick, but I was seemingly devasted with the loss of Fred.

No more farm animals for young Chelle. I did forgive Dad for his inadequate coop.