Butchy the chicken whisperer, chap 2

I didn’t become a chicken whisperer just by ordinary means. No sir! It first starts by knowing how to hypnotize a chicken. Not an easy thing to do while wearing wire rim glasses. It takes practice and a willingness to get one’s hands dirty. Try holding a 12-pound Rhode Island Red by its feet. I tell ya it ain’t easy.

But when I’m not chicken whispering, Donnie my new friend from Milwaukee and me are digging trenches over in the big vacant lot between the Willard Battery factory and the Union Pacific station. Trenches to hide from enemies and girls. And when not digging trenches we fly kites in the big vacant lot. I always buy the 10-cent diamond shaped paper kite with the face of a moon painted on it along with buying a 10-cent role of kite string from Joe Miller’s market. My friend Donnie always buys the paper Box Kite. Not sure why. It looks a lot like flying a box of Nabisco crackers. But anyway, Lot of running room for kite flying and tries not to trip over the railroad tracks when running backwards. Tracks that curve over to the Goodrich tire factory. But anyway this big vacant lot is primarily Donnie and me’s private kingdom. Girls and enemies keep out. But when hobos and tramps come down the tracks we go home.

More to come.

Published by Charles Oldenfatt the Curmudgeon

If I told you the truth about myself you would think what a wad of chewed gum stuck under a church pew I am. Dull. Ordinary .old and fat

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