One summer day, while my granny was in town, Raymond and I were sittin, whittlin and spittin. Bored, we decided to play "hide and seek". Raymond disappeared into the house while I counted a slow one hundred.
Now, this was MY house. I lived there and as such, there was no place that Raymond could hide that I couldn't find him. After checking a couple of places, I knew that he was behind the clothes in my great grandfather's closet. I went outside and picked up a piece of dried cat scat. Going back in, I stood in front of the closet and called to Raymond. I told him I knew he was there and the game was over, but I wanted him to stick his head out, as I had someting real interesting to show him. It took a bit of coaxing, but finally Raymond stuck his head out of the closet and asked what it was.
"A cat turd! Here, smell!" I yelled and shoved it up his nose.
To this day, I don't know how he got out of that closet, without tearing it down.
I was five paces ahead of him, when I reached the smokehouse. Just enough time for me to slam and lock the door before he got there.
Outside, Raymond is ranting and raving, as he beat on the door.
Inside, I'm trying to figure out something to distract him, so I don't get thumped.
After a few minutes, I get an idea. Talking calmly to Raymond through the door, I explained how it was his fault that cat scat wound up in his nose. (I was just going to show it to him, but he must have stumbled, as his head went down and hit my hand) Yeah, right.
Anyway. I convince him that we should just forget about that unfortunate "accident", as I had a great idea.
Let's get Old Satan drunk.
Old Satan was a bantam rooster that I had won ib a shooting match with Jim Provence. That was the meanest, most ill tempered critter I'd ever seen.
Of course, Raymond thought it was a fine idea, but I would be the one to catch and hold Old Satan, while he administered Poppa's whiskey.
We got an eyedropper and filled it from the old fruit jar. Old Satan walked right up to me, hoping for a chance to stick his spurs in my leg and was surprised when I grabbed him by the neck and held his feet. Raymond stuck the dropper in his beak and gives him a dose, but when I put Satan back down...nuthin. Must not have been enough, so we got another eyedropper full and did it again.
It seems that Old Satan can't find his feet. He staggers around, then flops over. He "sings", the first part of a rooster crow, then manages to get up and stagger over to take care of a couple of hens.
About that time, my granny pulls into the driveway.
Raymond and I beat a hasty retreat to the back porch, but granny had the Sixth Sence and knew that we had been up to something.
Before she could ask, Old Satan tried to fly to the top of the fence. He missed by about three feet, fell to the ground and continued to "sing."
Well, the truth came out, with Raymond blaming me for the whole thing. I thought my meat house was about to be torn down, but when she went to look at Old Satan, my granny laughed.
She did tell us that whiskey costs money and we weren't to be giving it to the critters. But yuh know...after that, Old Satan was gentle as a lamb and would follow me around in the chicken pen, like he was a pup.
Jess
Now, this was MY house. I lived there and as such, there was no place that Raymond could hide that I couldn't find him. After checking a couple of places, I knew that he was behind the clothes in my great grandfather's closet. I went outside and picked up a piece of dried cat scat. Going back in, I stood in front of the closet and called to Raymond. I told him I knew he was there and the game was over, but I wanted him to stick his head out, as I had someting real interesting to show him. It took a bit of coaxing, but finally Raymond stuck his head out of the closet and asked what it was.
"A cat turd! Here, smell!" I yelled and shoved it up his nose.
To this day, I don't know how he got out of that closet, without tearing it down.
I was five paces ahead of him, when I reached the smokehouse. Just enough time for me to slam and lock the door before he got there.
Outside, Raymond is ranting and raving, as he beat on the door.
Inside, I'm trying to figure out something to distract him, so I don't get thumped.
After a few minutes, I get an idea. Talking calmly to Raymond through the door, I explained how it was his fault that cat scat wound up in his nose. (I was just going to show it to him, but he must have stumbled, as his head went down and hit my hand) Yeah, right.
Anyway. I convince him that we should just forget about that unfortunate "accident", as I had a great idea.
Let's get Old Satan drunk.
Old Satan was a bantam rooster that I had won ib a shooting match with Jim Provence. That was the meanest, most ill tempered critter I'd ever seen.
Of course, Raymond thought it was a fine idea, but I would be the one to catch and hold Old Satan, while he administered Poppa's whiskey.
We got an eyedropper and filled it from the old fruit jar. Old Satan walked right up to me, hoping for a chance to stick his spurs in my leg and was surprised when I grabbed him by the neck and held his feet. Raymond stuck the dropper in his beak and gives him a dose, but when I put Satan back down...nuthin. Must not have been enough, so we got another eyedropper full and did it again.
It seems that Old Satan can't find his feet. He staggers around, then flops over. He "sings", the first part of a rooster crow, then manages to get up and stagger over to take care of a couple of hens.
About that time, my granny pulls into the driveway.
Raymond and I beat a hasty retreat to the back porch, but granny had the Sixth Sence and knew that we had been up to something.
Before she could ask, Old Satan tried to fly to the top of the fence. He missed by about three feet, fell to the ground and continued to "sing."
Well, the truth came out, with Raymond blaming me for the whole thing. I thought my meat house was about to be torn down, but when she went to look at Old Satan, my granny laughed.
She did tell us that whiskey costs money and we weren't to be giving it to the critters. But yuh know...after that, Old Satan was gentle as a lamb and would follow me around in the chicken pen, like he was a pup.
Jess
Well, that foolish old rooster used to come into the pen and pick on the pigs. When they'd go after him, he'd fly just outa reach onto a fence post and crow up a storm. My grandfather saw him do it and decided to teach him a lesson. He went into the shed where the fencer was and waited till that rooster jumped up on the post with those long tailfeathers draped ever so gracefully over the top strand of wire. Bam!, in went the plug and that rooster took off straight up, feathers flyin everywhere and squakin like he was fixin to die! 
Needless to say, those pigs enjoyed a long summer in their pen without being bothered by that rooster anymore. In fact, he'd make a detour of about twenty feet of the pen everytime he was out and about. 
Meebe he shoulda tried some whisky on him 
