It takes a long time to learn a chicken a thing, but a heap
longer to unlearn him. After that two or three of these yere
automobeels went by every day, all a-blowin' of their horns, all
kickin' up a hell of a dust. And every time them fourteen
Honk-honks of mine took along after 'em, just as I'd taught 'em
to do, layin' to get to their corn when they caught up. No more
of 'em died, but that fourteen did get into elegant trainin'.
After a while they got plumb to enjoyin' it. When you come right
down to it, a chicken don't have many amusements and relaxations
in this life. Searchin' for worms, chasin' grasshoppers, and
wallerin' in the dust is about the limits of joys for chickens.
It was sure a fine sight to see 'em after they got well into the
game. About nine o'clock every mornin' they would saunter down
to the rise of the road where they would wait patient until a
machine came along. Then it would warm your heart to see the
enthusiasm of them. With, exultant cackles of joy they'd trail
in, reachin' out like quarter-horses, their wings half spread
out, their eyes beamin' with delight. At the lower turn they'd
quit. Then, after talkin' it over excited-like for a few
minutes, they'd calm down and wait for another.
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