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Every kid who ever lived on a farm has been attacked by a rooster. My grandparents had one that would actually hide and ambush us when we tried to go to the toilet. I hated that ole rooster.

Talking of chickens remind me of a terrible deed my younger brothers and me did in our youth.

We used to like to climb atop the chicken house and sit under the shade of a plum tree growing up along side.

Well, one year my family ordered chicks and they arrived at the post office in those heavy cardboard boxes just cheeping and cheeping. They put them in the incubators on the back porch until ready for the chicken yard.

When they were good sized pullets, we were sitting on the chicken house roof watching them below. My younger brother picked a hard, not yet ripened plum, and chuncked it at the chickens. OMG, he hit it in the head and it died on the spot. Well, what did we do, but do it again. Soon there were a dozen or more dead chickens laying about the chicken yard.

We climbed down, unalarmed, and went in to supper as usual.

When the adults found the dead chickens they assumed that they died of some mysterious disease and were afraid to butcher and eat them. So, they killed and buried them.

We never told the true story.

When I told my Mother, about forty years later, she still got very angry at us. LOL

I don't recall ever being attacked by a rooster, but I sure remember getting attacked by turkeys! Those rascals were MEAN! TOUGH TOO! Even the dogs ran from them. They ran growling and snapping, but they still ran.