10 November 2005

A fowl story

Here in darkest Pennsyltucky, one can not always rely on supermarkets for one’s food. This is especially true when the Sheriff’s department impounds your car for the piddling reason that it was stolen. Since I’d parked it in front of Reverend Steve’s house, he had to do the ‘splainin’, not me.

So, reduced to Shank’s mares, I walked to the local hardware store to get some chicken wire. As I left the store, one of the elderly locals called out from the bench on the porch.

“Hey, boy!” He said with a spit of tobacco juice. “Where ya going with that wire?”

“Well, Sir, this is chicken wire. I’m going to catch some chickens.” I replied.

“You can’t catch chickens with chicken wire.” He said shaking his head. “That’s for fencing, ijit!”

I ignored him and walked down to the ADM poultry farm. I made a crude cage, stuffed some hens in and carried it back home. The old fellow just shook his head when I walked by.

A day or two later, deterred by the increased security at ADM, I decided to try something else. This time, I bought some duck tape.

“Hey BOY!” The old coot called out. “Where you going with that tape?”

“Well, Old timer, this is no ordinary tape, this is Duck tape, and I am going down to the creek to get some ducks.”

Again, he was incredulous. “You can’t catch ducks with Duck tape.” He said. “Yer about ignernt! Duck tape is fer fixin’ trucks!”

“Watch me, Gramps.”

I made a sticky net out of the tape, deployed it across the draw and yelled like a heathen as I ran towards it. Net result, four mallards, two Canada geese and one particularly dim toy poodle. Reluctantly, I let the ankle biter go. (Poodles just aren’t good eating).

The old fart couldn’t believe it when I walked past him with my catch.

Later that week, I was sent to the flower shop to pick up some things for one of Gretchen’s dried floral arrangements.


As I passed the hardware store, he called out to me.

“Boy, where you going with them twigs?”

“For crying out loud, Methuselah; these aren’t twigs, these are pussy willows.”

A sickly hunger burned through his usual languorous gaze.

“You just wait right here, boy.” He said, jumping up. “I’ll go get my hat!”


And that's the way I likes it.