We all remember the Thanksgivings of the past. Thanksgiving has always been a fond memory of mine. I was raised on a farm, so we always made the meal from what we had right there on the farm. If people didn’t raise turkeys, they had chicken, ham, or whatever they had on hand.
I remember one Thanksgiving when we had chicken for dinner instead of turkey. Lots of chicken. My dad always blamed it on our coon dog, Old Blue. There were plates and bowls full of chicken on our table like you’ve never seen before in your life. We had boiled, pan fried chicken, deep fried, baked, chicken and noodles, chicken pot pie, and every other way that it was possible to prepare chicken.
We didn’t have a refrigerator, so we had to cook everything when it was killed. I asked my mom why we had so much chicken for Thanksgiving. That is when she told me one of the funniest stories I’ve ever heard in my life.
She said it was 3 o’clock in the morning when my dad thought he heard something in the chicken house. Something was making the chickens become restless and they started squawking, which woke him up. She said he got up out of bed and didn’t have anything on except those old long handled underwear with the trap door in the back. (I don’t believe they make that kind of underwear anymore. They have a flap in the back that fastens with a couple of buttons. They were built like that so a man can could go to the outhouse with them on under his overalls, without taking them completely off.)
She said my dad grabbed the old 12 gauge double barreled, Sears and Roebuck shotgun from over the door and went out to investigate. Remember, he wasn’t wearing anything except that pair of long johns with the trap door open in the back, and his house shoes. The “trap door” was unbuttoned and hanging down.
He eased up to the window of the chicken house. He stuck the gun, the flashlight, and the top half of his body through the small window. About that time, our black and tan coon hound, Old Blue, came up behind him and cold nosed him. She said he pulled both triggers at the same time on that old double barreled shot gun, and killed every chicken we had, except for that one old frozen toed rooster, with the bad eye.
It was one of the best Thanksgivings I can remember. There was one thing for sure, we had all the chicken we wanted for a long time.
Words of Wisdom by Uncle Hershel: Never take a sleeping pill and a laxative at the same time.