It was an egg farm, which meant the sound of chickens clucking was always in the air. It was the worst ear-splitting racket up close. If Mackie’s dad walked into the main coop to check on the feed or whatever, a wave of panic would spread among the chickens and they’d cluck louder and louder until every chicken was caught up in the frenzy. Like a crowd gathering to see what’s in the middle of the excitement, only there’s nothing to see. Chickens were dumb like that.
I tried to stay as far away from that smelly coop, though I was expected to do my part on the farm while staying there, so three times a week I had to go in and feed the crazy birds. I asked Mackie once if his dad had any earplugs I could borrow. He said, “What the hell for?”
“So I don’t have to hear those chickens freak out over nothing while I’m in there.”
Mackie grabbed my shoulders and shouted in my ear. “Why?! You don’t like loud stuff?!” Then he let himself get shoved away as he cackled. He was such a jerk.
|Photo / Creative Commons / Dwight Burdette|
When chores were done for that portion of the day, he’d send me and Mackie out to “play.” I put that in quotations because there was never any play involved in what happened next.
(To be continued...)