My daddy calls me a chicken herder. Odd, because I am scared to death of roosters…always have been. That fact has provided much delight and humor to my father. Of his favorite stories to share about me, two involve chickens and turkeys. Oh, how he laughs as he reminisces about the day that he came home from work to find me locked in the chicken pen…sans chickens. You see, the chickens were all OUTSIDE the pen, trying to kill themselves to get in. Those crazy birds were bouncing off the wire. Sure, they were hungry. They wanted me…I knew it then, I know it now. I was TRYING to feed them, but their food of choice that day was human and I was not ready to go down…not that day…not that way. So, I was found locked in the pen. I had been there for slightly more than a minute before my dad arrived home and was able to share in the, apparently hysterical, experience. I started hollering the second I heard his car door slam. Yes, he finally found me, and he FINALLY helped me…it was great…NOT!!
Peanut Butter in My Hairbrush 