You have no idee how slow chickens is to learn
things. I could tell you things about chickens--say, this yere
bluff about roosters bein' gallant is all wrong. I've watched
'em. When one finds a nice feed he gobbles it so fast that the
pieces foller down his throat like yearlin's through a hole in
the fence. It's only when he scratches up a measly one-grain
quick-lunch that he calls up the hens and stands noble and
self-sacrificin' to one side. That ain't the point, which is,
that after two months I had them long-laigs so they'd drop
everythin' and come kitin' at the HONK-HONK of that horn. It was
a purty sight to see 'em, sailin' in from all directions twenty
foot at a stride. I was proud of 'em, and named 'em the
Honk-honk Breed. We didn't have no others, for by now the
coyotes and bob-cats had nailed the straight-breds. There wasn't
no wild cat or coyote could catch one of my Honk-honks, no, sir!
We made a little on our placer--just enough to keep interested.
Then the supervisors decided to fix our road, and what's more,
THEY DONE IT! That's the only part in this yarn that's hard to
believe, but, boys, you'll have to take it on faith. They
ploughed her, and crowned her, and scraped her, and rolled her,
and when they moved on we had the fanciest highway in the State
of Californy.
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