A friend recently sent me an email that contained pictures of colored Easter Chicks. In the 1950s each Easter season the grocery stores would sell colored Easter chicks. My grandmother had chickens at her farm. I loved getting the eggs and going to the chicken yard.
I was probably four years old when the neighbors next door got two of the colored Easter chicks for their kids. My dad agreed that I could have one, but not one of the colored ones, because they might not be healthy. He and I went to the feed store and picked out a chick, running wildly in the pen with probably 100 others.
I guess they had read me a book with a chick name Eggbert in it so that is what I decided to name him...then there was the egg laying incident, she became Eggberta. The neighbor's two kids and myself had thoroughly spoiled these birds. They were used to being carried around, petted and now expected and demanded attention.
After one of the neighbor’s birds started crowing their parents and mine decided it was time for the three birds to go to my grandparents dairy farm in Oklahoma....a short 8 hour drive from our house. After they were all delivered, the neighbor’s birds assimilated into chicken yard life pretty well, but not so for Eggberta. She, it seemed felt too good for the chicken yard. Her feelings became known when she terrorized the other chickens, chased them, pecked them and then started standing in the doorway of the chicken house, allowing no one into the nesting boxes to lay eggs. Since my grandmother sold her eggs this was not going fly.
Grannie had planned to kill Eggberta for dinner, but since she had such a willful personality, decided to put it off for awhile. She let Egberta have the run of her backyard, instead of being in the chicken yard, which she loved. At least at first. Then one afternoon Papa came in from milking and left the door to the screened porch open while he was changing clothes. Eggberta walked right in and found it to be to her liking. Her favorite place to sit was on top of the long deep freezer on the porch, which was warm, with a slight vibration when the motor ran. However, after that first afternoon she started laying her eggs while on the freezer....and since the top was rounded, they rolled right off and crashed onto the floor of the screened porch. This pushed Grannie’s patience to the very limits. Papa said it was time to eat Eggberta, but Grannie said she had never had to eat a chicken with a name.
After few days one of Grannie’s cousins showed up. They had agreed to take Eggberta and eat her since they did not know her name and did not know her...period. Once again Eggberta was loaded into the car, this time off to slaughter. After she had been gone a few days, the cousin called Grannie. She asked, “Was this chicken a pet? She has the most peculiar personality and keeps running into the house every chance she gets.” Finally Grannie fessed up and told her the story of Eggberta. Her cousin, it turned out didn’t mind having a pet chicken. Her freezer was in the garage and it didn’t have a rounded top. She put Eggberta’s nesting box on the freezer. Each time Eggberta layed an egg she ran to the back door, and started banging the screen with her beak. When someone came out and got it, she would go on her way scratching and pecking. She lived a long life and, as my grandfather told the story, “Died of old age."
