Sylvan Summer Part Iii

The cracker crisp Maine air rang with the rooster’s revel. Moving day, time to clean the hens shed. Monstrous three story hatchery, thousands of burnt umber; beauties a laying. Lace edged bobby socks, red Keds, barrettes, T-shirt and short; and off to the hen house, pony tail bouncing. Immersed in the acrid reek of chicken dew; Blue jean boys, Georgie, Wayne, Aunt Donna and pony tail girl [me]; wade through squawk, cluck and doodle. The boys were more than sure this horrific chore was a girl eraser. The mini-men had their gawk, on not at all convinced that this pretty little missy was going to be up for the job! And up they must go all those dirty, sticky cluckers! Up they all must go! Sunny side up! Up, up, with the upside down their pointer pecker heads darting toward gapes between sock and pantleg. Their leathery legs in the grip of my small pink hands. Winging flapping with all their might as if they could fly the three of us right up the poop covered stairs! Oh but these Betty's were beauties. And each omelet laying pecker each shoelace eating Grande dame, each button and barrette bobbing bird wings flapping, feathers flying, with their deep brown questioning eyes must be moved! UP, up to the second floor of that p-you-trfying hen house in the heat of a windless Maine August. “Get along with you three!” Aunt Donna screams spitting feathers above the din. “Up stairs with the whole damn lot of them!” The boys eye the girl and with a tilt of my chin and scrawny pecker in each diminutive hand; we troop gingerly, over the sawdust refuse strewn floor, up the tangled trio go, up! For they weren't going to get rid of me that easily no man ever has [wink]. *More for Carry and Bob