Lemme’ tell you ’bout Capt’n Hook. Maybe you recall summa’ my farm stories an’ maybe you don’t, but I like tellin’ ’em, so if you think you’ve heard this one before, jus’ chalk it up to you havin’ a poor memory or sumptin’. For sure, I wouldn’t be tellin’ the same story over again, now would I?
Once upon a time, we thought we were regular Gentlemen-Farmers; of the Noah’s Ark Variety, you might say. We had summa’ these and a few of those and, naturally, a handful of those animals over there. In fact, we had so many types of two-legged and four-legged critters that it got downright difficult to keep all their names straight, at times. No matter; they all answered to, “HereBaby,” anyway.
Turned out that my favorite animals were the chickens. That is, if you din’t count ALL the other animals on the farm. The fourteen-acre farm.
So, there we were with our couple hun’erd chickens, surrounded by the squeeks, squawks and cacophony of too many contributors when, one day, HereBaby #173 happened to be standing near the watering pan. My good hubby-buddy and one of our sons noticed somethin’ strange, as #173 was not drinking any water, in spite of the extreme heat.
Now, this is where HereBaby #173 acquired a much better name to brag about in the hen house. At closer inspection, our son realized that there had apparently been some fishin’ goin’ on in the chicken yard. See, #173 had found himself the purtiest little fish hook and line you ever did see; well-used an’ kinda’ dirty an’ rusty… like that.
Not bein’ one to leave such a purty object layin’ around, #173 had snatched that ol’ hook up and tried to swallow it, whole. Didn’t work. Seems roosters and fish hooks are not the best companions. Who knew?
So, bein’ the kindhearted souls that they were, Hubby-Buddy and Son set to work rescuin’ that silly rooster. You’re not gonna’ b’lieve what happened next. Gently and carefully, the fellas worked hard to remove the hook from the chicken’s craw, #173 squirmin’ and kickin’, the whole time. That’s when Mother Nature stepped in so’s the guys had a little more control over the situation.
Floomp! Did you know that chickens could faint? No? Well, neither did we; right up until that very moment when it happened. Quickly, before he could recover his senses, the wire cutters were put to good use and the hook was removed… just in time for the Angel Hens to sprinkle Wake-Up Dust over the head of #173.
It jus’ seemed natural to give #173 a new name, under the circumstances, and what better name than Capt’n Hook? He lived up to his title, too. He may not have been a pirate, but he certainly tangled with some villainous critters in his long life; like the fly-by attack from a Chicken Hawk. But that’s a story for another day. Yup! You heard me right. That’s one chicken that lived a long and adventurous life.
‘Course, Capt’n Hook never got cooked with the dumplin’s. He woulda’ been too tough, anyway. Besides, we were kinda’ fond of the ol’ pirate. Sometimes, I think about Capt’n Hook and wonder if he ever does any fishin’.
Until the next time, keep a hug on.