I started this post 2 months ago. Two months ago, I had the majority of it written in my head, and a month ago, I had completely forgotten it. Post death due to procrastination. Then something happened that reminded me why I wanted to write this.
Let it be said for the record that I live with He-Man. I’m not kidding, and I’m not bragging, it is just a simple fact. My dear husband was blessed with some seriously strong upper body strength. It definitely has its perks, like for opening jars, moving furniture and stuff in general, and doing anything requiring a fair bit of strength. But life with He-Man also has some negatives, especially when he is married to someone with limp noodle arms. I ain’t no She-Ra.
For example, one day a few years back, I had bought an apple peeler/corer. One of those kitchen gadgets that you tighten to a surface with a clamp, you know? Well, He-Man attached it to one of my shelves for some reason or another, and I needed to move it. I tried to loosen the clamp. Uh uh. No go, not happenin’. I thought maybe I got my “Righty-tighty, Lefty-loosey” backwards. Nope, I was going the right way. After about ten minutes of no progress, I had to literally take a hammer and whack the poor peeler off of the shelf to loosen it. All the while I was muttering very, very bad words.
Another example, about two weeks ago, Jason had turned off the valve to the toilet upstairs for some reason and it needed to be turned back on to flush it. I tried to turn it….yeah, right. “Hand tightened” with him is equivalent to me using a wrench with a cheater pipe on it and beating the crap out of it with a mallet. He was trying to relax in his chair when I came back down, obviously defeated. “Well, all you have to do is turn it!” he says. I gave him that narrow-eyed look that only a wife can give a husband, and which a husband must come to understand, and he tromped upstairs and danged if it didn’t just turn for HIM.
So YESTERDAY, we had something happen that reminded me why I wanted to write this. Here we are at 7:25 a.m. I am furiously trying to get two dogs, two guinea pigs, and two fish fed, two kids in the car with all their stuff, me in the car with all MY stuff, and He-Man comes to the back door with a dead-looking broiler chicken in his hand. Uh oh.
He has a funny look on his face. A limp chicken is in one palm, and a machete in the other.
He says,”Well, I had a little accident this morning.”
Me: Uh huh.
HM: Well, see, all the chickens were running at me and wouldn’t get out of the way, they flipped over all their food dishes so I tried to push them out of the way with the food bucket, and….(voice trails off)
Me: Uh huh….and?
HM: Well, I accidentally hit this one in the head with the bucket. But see, it’s heart is still beating, and I just thought maybe it would make it.
Sure enough, on the chicken’s right temple was a growing purple welt just above the eye. Now, in HM’s defense, if you have never seen broiler chicks come after food, you would really be shocked. In fact, it’s such a crazy thing, that as soon as I figure out how to upload a video of them at feeding time, I’m posting it. Broiler chickens would eat 24 hours a day, non-stop, and if they ever eat up all of their food, no matter if they were only out for 5 minutes, they will run at you like an all out chicken feeding frenzy. You literally cannot walk into the pen; you must shuffle your feet unless you want to crush a bird. It is like walking into a living sea of crazed and rabid white birds. You also have zero chance of getting any food in the food dish if you don’t pick it up, because you have 24 big chickens all attempting to get INTO the food dish at once.
So, in He-Man’s defense, what had happened was that there were 24 big, hungry birds that ran at him full force. When they did, they flipped over one of their three food dishes which proceeded to launch about 2 cups of chicken food slurry (it had rained the previous night) through the air. With the flying slurry and the chicken landslide, it’s easy to see how things can get nuts. Which is how one of the chicks got clonked upside its poor little head. When he swings a bucket, to him it was a gentle swing. To the chicken, it’s a 5 gallon Bucket O’ Death. Shouldn’t chickens have an innate fear of buckets anyway? So, He-Man gave the poor chicken a concussion and now here it lay in his palm, possibly ready to go to the big 10 Piece Chicken Dinner in the Sky.
I picked it up, and it cracked open the other eye. It was breathing and the heartbeat was strong, so I told him to put up the machete and stick it in one of our brooder boxes to give it time to recover from the accidental clonking. Sure enough, when we came home that afternoon, said Concussed Chicken was up and going strong, albeit sporting a little ‘shiner’ on the side of its head.
So maybe He-Man will never make a successful poultry farmer, or at least he shouldn’t have 5 gallon pails at his disposal. Well, we can’t be all things, can we? The chickens did some revenge, though. When he turned around to go put the bird in “CICU” (Chicken Intensive Care Unit, pronounced “Chick-U”), the food slurry that the chickens had launched in the pen had splattered across his entire back.