About that kids age I was headed up to the cabin with my grandfather. We’d always stop in at the house down the mountain on the way in, and chat with his friend Stanley and his wife. Stanley was deaf from birth, I could hardly understand him.
On this trip, while they were talking I picked up he was asking Grandpap if I’d ever been “spurred”. Grandpap asked me, I didn’t know what the heck it was. Stanley motioned to the field over and adjacent fence, and Grandpap indicated as soon as I hopped over it, I’d get to finding out all about in short order.
Now, I’m already on alert that the “old dudes” are gonna pull one off on the youngster, but for the life of me, I can’t noodle it out. The fence isn’t electrified, so that’s not it, so I hop over, still not seeing anything around, and definitely not wanting to be a pussy about it. I walk out a bit, there’s a white chicken in the distance, but hey, it’s just a chicken... Kinda moving my way... Really fast...whoa, looks like feathered Tasmanian Devil in motion...
YAAAaaaaaghhhhhh!!!
That chicken was on me like stink on s***, I lit out for the fence with that feathered demon working me like a politician on a bond measure. When I’d vaulted it, Stanley and Grandpap were about to tears laughing, noting that, as they gathered their wits, the painfull welts running up my legs were the result of the spurs on the inside of the roosters legs...
You’re a good storyteller, and that’s a funny memory, but if you had been my son, I would have been reading the Riot Act to your Grandad before the day was done!