re: #127 Backwoods_Sleuth

LOLOLOLOL

My first wife and I (mostly she) raised chickens, WHILE WE LIVED ON THE FARM. Even then, it didn’t always go as planned.
LGF 8-12-08

My first wife and I lived on a farm in the Texas Panhandle.
Wife #1 had only two virtues; she was quite good-looking (several virtues in itself, I suppose) and she was an expert shot, a nationally ranked trap and skeet shooter in fact.
We had coyotes around and, having been raised on Roadrunner cartoons, I took a live-and-let-live attitude toward them. So did the wife, until one of them killed her favorite cat. At that point, she declared war. Fortunately for the coyotes she wasn’t as good with a rifle as with a shotgun.
It happens that we raised chickens, as well as cats, cattle, and grain sorghum. I loathed the vile birds so they were the wife’s project.
One night we heard a commotion in the our backyard. The wife looked out and screamed that there was a coyote in the chicken pen. As far as I was concerned, the coyote was welcome to them but the wife demanded action, so I started to get dressed to go out and investigate. At that point, the wife decided that I wasn’t moving fast enough, so she took matters into her own hands. She grabbed my Lee-Enfield rifle from the closet and aimed out the window, right through the screen (the window was open since it was summertime). I yelled, “DON’T FIRE THAT IN-“

BOOM!

She missed the coyote and hit a big rooster. The rifle had been loaded with Norma hollow-points. Feathers and various giblets were scattered over a large part of the backyard. The other chickens, the deceased rooster’s presumed relatives, were standing around pecking at the remains, thereby affirming my already thorough contempt for their species.