Country kids get a leg up on their city counterparts when it comes to learning the basics of life,
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It one thing to read about "Old McDonald" and yet another to put on your old shoes and clean out his chicken coop. Even when you in single digits seven,
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City talk has pretty much been scripted through the years but nonetheless more difficult to recite than the preamble to the constitution, "Well,
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With country parents it pretty much, "Do you remember when we brought Harvey the bull, down to meet Bessie, the cow ."

My sisters and I were "hybrids" to use a word now applied to cars,
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As a kid there weren many things I enjoyed more than playing baseball unless it was not shelling peas or digging potatoes. I probably had the best baseball glove a JC Higgins Classic that I slept with in the neighborhood and for sure the best backstop. The chicken pen meandered around several trees and provided forty feet of fence sufficient to stop errant balls, except for occasional foul tips.

Pop was a strict disciplinarian and the quintessential Irishman smart, exacting, sandy red hair, blue eyes,
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He seemed more attached to the chickens than most of the other animals. Perhaps it was because there were more of them and he was especially fond of eggs and fried chicken. But neither did they require as much care; just throw out some hen scratch,
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On this day we had gathered enough players for a softball game; my sisters and a few other neighborhood kids. Early in the game a foul tip carried the ball over the fence and into the chicken pen. Generally with a little stretching and help from a bat you could retrieve the ball,
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I gathered up my courage, greatly enhanced by the bat in my hand,
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Out of sheer reflex and mortal fear I swung the bat and hit the rooster flush on the head. He dropped in his tracks and lay still,
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A shaky voice from outside the fence suggested I pour water on the heap of feathers in hopes the old rooster was still clinging to life. It was later that I assumed it was God or Oral Roberts. I doused his head,
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I rejoined the group standing somberly outside the fence wondering what to do next. Aside from running away, what could I do? Someone suggested we say a prayer,
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As we watched and hoped, in a matter of seconds the old rooster began to twitch and move, slowly and haltingly, then more. Finally he stood,
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The old rooster was never as imposing or ferocious after this encounter. I don know how he was in the romance department. Funny thing,
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John L. Brazell is a native Texan and resides in the beautiful Hill Country near Austin,
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He is a member of several writing groups and has been published in ezines,
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