Show and Tell

Getting to school when we moved to the country was somewhat problematic. At first, we lived at the end of a long dirt road that only cars and horses could travel. The school would not send a bus down that road to get my brothers and me. After a few years, the right of way for a direct road to our house was negotiated. The result was another shorter dirt road which was passable when dry. During the early days of the new road, it was not uncommon to leave the car stuck on the first hill. After the road dried, we could forego the half mile trek through mud to get home.

The school officials decided we could catch the bus where the new road turned off the main county road. So every morning we would wait for the bus and sometimes look around the creek bank near the bus stop.

One morning a movement near the creek caught our attention. When we went closer, we saw the biggest turtle any of us had seen outside of a zoo. It didn't take long to figure out where the name “snapping turtle” originated. This turtle had an attitude. We were familiar with the turtles that would travel in slow motion and retract its appendages when someone came near. This turtle acted like he wanted to amputate our appendages. We tried putting different sized sticks near him, and he could slice most of them with little effort.

“I know what we should do,” I said, “We could take him to school and let everybody see this thing!” We looked for a container for him with no success. “The bus won't be here for another fifteen minutes. Maybe I can find a bucket at the house.”

I ran as fast as I could to the house and found a five gallon paint bucket. After I got back to the bus stop, we put the turtle in the bucket. This was easy. We held a stick near him and he clamped onto it, then we lifted him into the bucket by using the stick as a turtle handle.

The bus pulled up and as the doors opened, we saw “Preacher" Meadows at the wheel. He always wore a pressed white shirt and a dress hat. As my brothers were climbing the steps, Mr. Meadows was greeting us. “How are the Murphys today?” When I got to the top step he saw the bucket in my hand and said “Whoa! What have you got in the bucket?”

“It's a turtle. I thought I would take it and show my teacher.”

As “Preacher" Meadow looked down into the bucket, I could tell he wasn't in agreement with my plan.

“Get that thing off the bus before it hurts somebody!” he exclaimed.

I had no choice but to leave my exhibit near the creek. My teacher and the kids in my class never knew what they had missed out on. I still believe he would have created a lot of excitement.

(Here is a video of one of these varmints: https://youtu.be/GO1HD3ebuZs 

Smoking is Dangerous

I don't quite understand my fascination with fireworks.  When I was a boy, I loved to shoot fireworks.  Most of the time we got sparklers, roman candles, and black cats.  Our budget didn't allow for the rockets and bigger kinds of explosives.  This is probably a good thing.  A few times I would be a little slow to release a firecracker and suffer a temporary hearing loss and the throbbing of an injured hand.

By today's pc standards, we did a few things that could get you or your parents thrown in jail today. One incident that I never seem to forget happened when I was about six years of age.  Why I was allowed to have fireworks at that age, I couldn't say.

It was during the Christmas season and we had a good supply of the black cat explosive firecrackers. They came in a double string and each firecracker was about two inches long.  They were loud and fun.  We liked to experiment with blowing up different things to see how they would look.  It was cold, and for some reason I was pulling my youngest brother, Bub, around in a wagon between explosions.  A few times I would throw a firecracker and the fuse would burn normally until it got to the firecracker and it would appear to just go out.

On one of these occasions, Bub reached out of the wagon and picked the "dead" firecracker up and put it in his mouth and pretended it was a cigarette. Before I could react, a small amount of smoke came from the fuse area and the "cigarette" exploded.  My brother's lips blew apart and he looked totally surprised.  I knew that wouldn't last long.  The screams and crying came next.

I was thinking about how my life was now over.  How could I explain what happened?  The best story I could think of on short notice was a falling icicle scenario.  I had to act fast and be first with the news.  When I rushed in and told my story, it caused quite a stir.  My parents were quick to run and get Bub and repair his busted lip.  They were so glad that he was OK that I faded to the background.  My baby brother took the spotlight once again.

Taxi

My dad was always buying and trading things.  His tire shop brought lots of different people together.  Some of them just wanted their tires repaired or replaced, but some knew there was an opportunity to do some trading.

While I didn't always know the details of the trades, I usually saw the results of the deals.  One such trade was for a 1938 Chevrolet sedan.  It was a nice looking car with no noticeable dents or scratches.
It surprised me when Dad's first use of the Chevy was to haul a calf in it.  To fit the yearling in it, he removed the back seat and had my brother, Arnie, and I to hold it for the trip home.

Since Dad had a car to drive to work, he would leave the Chevy parked at home.  During this time we lived about 8 miles from town at the end of a rutted dirt road.  There was only one neighbor past our house and one neighbor between the main road and our house. Unless Charlie Harper had to leave home, there was no traffic passing the house.

One day while I was thinking about something to do to break the boredom, an idea came to me: "Wouldn't it be fun to play taxi cab.  There was a perfectly good sedan sitting in the yard collecting dust." Looking around the house it didn't take long to find the Chevy keys.

The Chevy started easily and I drove my first "fare" up the road about a half mile.  I left Bub there and turned around to go back and pick up my other brother.  It was fun driving around in the taxi.  After picking Arnie up, I headed back to the stop where I had turned around.  At some point during this trip, I began to smell smoke.  Looking around as I drove, I could see smoke under the dash. By the time I got to the turn around, the car was filled with smoke.

Since we didn't have a phone, I decided to go to Charlie's house and ask what I should do.  While running down the road I was hoping the car wouldn't completely burn before I returned.  Charlie was about sixty years old.  He was raised on the farm, so he was good at using his experience and common sense to deal with problems.  His suggestion was to throw sand on the wires.  The smoke seemed to be coming from the rubber insulation on the wiring.  We did as he suggested and it stopped smoking. I don't know whether the fire stopped because I turned the switch off or because of the sand we threw in the engine compartment and under the dash.  I just knew the fire was out and I was glad there was a car left.

We were spared extra punishment.  I believe my dad could tell how much the incident had scared us and decided that was enough trauma.

The Glass Incident

There are times when brothers feel the need to wrestle and push each other around just for the fun of it.  It could be caused from boredom or excess energy.  Whatever the reason for it, my brothers and I were wrestling and scuffling in the house one day when we got a little too carried away and the youngest brother, Bub, hit the glass in the front door with such a force that the glass broke out and scattered in numerous pieces.

Immediately, all activity ceased.  The harsh reality of our situation came over us like a blast of cold air.  Mother was at work and we were alone during summer vacation.  We realized that we only had a limited time to deal with this problem or face the certain anger of a parent who would come home and realize there was no longer a glass in the front door.

We decided to call a glass company to see if they would fix the door for us.  The spokesman at the glass company said the repair would be about twenty dollars.  I told him to come on out.  After getting off the phone, I discussed the amount of money we needed.  We searched our banks and pockets for the money.  After a considerable amount of searching, we decided we had enough.

The glass repairman came out in a couple of hours to make the repair.  It seemed like it only took him about thirty minutes to replace the glass.  I was hoping it would take longer because I was dreading the next part.  After the repairman handed us the bill, we brought out a large fishing tackle box.  We told the service man it would take a little while to pay him.  It took longer to count out twenty dollars in pennies, nickels, and dimes than it took to do the repair.

After the glass was replaced, my and brothers and I cleaned up the broken glass.  It was then that we noticed how clean the new glass was.  It was decided that we should put some fingerprints and a little dirt on the glass to "age" it.  The results were a complete success.  It was several years later before we finally told mother about the glass incident.

Corn Whiskey

It's hard to explain where some ideas originate.  Maybe TV shows or books or conversations inspire us to try things we haven't done.  It occurred to me that I might could make some corn whiskey.  We had plenty of corn in the barn.  There was sugar in the house and a gallon jug in the storage house.

After I assembled the ingredients, I filled the jug with water.  Next I shucked several ears of corn and removed the kernels. The kernels were placed in the jug with water and some sugar.  A dish towel was used to cover the jug and it was placed in the the ceiling of the store house near the ceiling access opening.  This would hide it from view but make it easily accessible.

After about three weeks the brew was giving off a distinctive fermentation smell.  Now I would have to be creative and decide how to cook off the alcohol and get the end product. All the pictures I had seen showed a container with a hose or line connecting to the top of it and running to an empty container.  It appeared that a burner was lit under the fermented corn to cook the final product and cause it to travel to the second container.

The only cooking appliance at our house was in our kitchen.  To undertake whiskey making in the house would mean my mother would have to be gone.  I watched for an opportunity to have the kitchen to myself.

Finally, I was at home one Saturday when mom decided to go to the grocery store.  As soon as the family Chevy disappeared  around the corner, I began assembling my still in the kitchen.  Before long it was ready.  I lit the burner and waited for the law of physics to work.  Things happened much quicker than I thought they would.  I heard a muffled explosion at the stove.  When I checked it, I realized a law of physics I hadn't thought of had come into operation.  A glass jug of the ordinary variety would not hold its shape with a gas burner lit under it.  Simply put, the jug had exploded and its contents were splattered on the stove and on the kitchen floor.

I'm sure my mom smelled something when she got back, but I must have come up with some plausible story, because I don't remember a switching.  I wasn't successful in making the whiskey, but  my knowledge was increased and I didn't kill myself.  That was a success to me.

The New Radio Station, pt. 4

My youngest brother, Bub, was outgoing and up for new adventures.  He was the obvious choice for the door to door contacts.  Since we had stacks of magazines from my sister, why not try  Bub's sales technique as a bonus?

We decided to announce the radio station and mention the deal on used magazines.  After loading my brother's bicycle with magazines, it was time for me to sign on the air at KBOP.  I thought that was a catchy call sign.  It seemed like I played every record I had before Bub came home.

It was clear that the station was reaching our neighbors and they were amazed to hear "Sonny" on their radio, but the magazine sales were not very good.  A few magazines were sold, but not enough to establish a regular route.  After the excitement of the whole experience, our interest in the broadcast and magazine sales business diminished.  It was the newness of the adventure and its possibilities that were the most fun.

I would continue to broadcast from time to time, but mainly to test a new mic or antenna for its quality.  The family was tired of testing and they had heard all the records. It was fun to try something that I had dreamed about.  It was also an introduction to reality. Not everyone was as excited about the idea as I was.

It was time to move on to something new.  I wondered what it would take to make a whiskey still.
Just think of the possibility of making whiskey with only corn, sugar, and water.

The New Radio Station, pt. 3

After what seemed a very long time, a box came from Allied Radio Co.  It seemed strangely small for all the plans I had made.  I opened the box and looked at the contents.  It consisted of a small square metal chassis, three tubes, and an assortment of resistors, capacitors, and assorted components.

I spent several hours in the following days soldering parts together until it was finished.  Now it was time to plug in the microphone and turntable to see if worked.  The first good sign was the fact that the tubes lit.  I searched for a record to test with. The antenna was only a ten foot piece of insulated wire, but it would do for testing.  When I turned my radio receiver on, I kept tuning across the dial until I finally found the sound of my record playing.  Wow, I was on the air!

The next few days I worked after school and in my spare time to check the microphone and rig a better antenna.  The instructions warned that it was against the law to use an antenna longer than the ten foot wire connected to the transmitter, so I reasoned that a longer antenna would work better.

Before long there was a 50 to 75 ft. antenna wire going from the house to a large Catalpa tree in the yard. This wire was connected to a ten foot piece of pipe tied to the tree trunk as high as I could place it. The coverage in the areas around the house was good, but it was time to see if the signal could reach the nearest neighbor at least a half to three quarters a mile away.

When it became available, I used the family car to test the signal.  Since it was difficult to get volunteer deejays, I would choose the longest playing thirty three and a third album I could find and start it on the turntable before I left the house.  The discovery that I made about the signal was that it seemed to piggyback on the electric power wires in the area.  That made the signal carry to the nearest community.

The information that the signal was getting to the nearest houses was the first step in market research. I needed a representative for the door to door information gathering.  My pool of qualified researchers was very limited.  Which one of my two brothers would be both qualified and willing to do the job?      ***to be continued.

The New Radio Station, part 2

While I was waiting for the AM transmitter to arrive, I began to assemble the other parts for the station.  In my reading I discovered the pre-amp on the broadcast kit had a low impedance and a high impedance input.  The pickup cartridge on a typical phonograph player was high impedance, so it would plug in on one side and leave an input for a low impedance microphone.  It so happens that a speaker with a permanent magnet can serve as a low impedance microphone.

The plan was coming together.  Now, I needed the kit to arrive so I could start soldering parts together.  The old house next to our main house would serve as the studio.  I was wondering what kind of range I could get on the signal.  There were trees to place an antenna in and plenty of wire and other parts to build an antenna with.

Next, I had to assemble all the records I could find.  We had a fairly good sized collection of various genres. The selections ran from Elvis records to "Around the World in 80 Days" to Judy Canova to Bruce Chanel. This list was very eclectic even by my standards.

At this point, it wasn't pertinent to me whether or not anyone would ever listen to the station or not. My main focus was getting on the air.

Since I had the necessary items assembled, the main agenda was to continue waiting for the transmitter to arrive.

***to be continued.

A New Radio Station

In the fifties and sixties radio was a powerful influence on me. Everything about broadcasting was interesting.  I built crystal radio sets and listened to shortwave radio.  My challenge was to build an antenna that would bring in those distant stations.

At night the AM broadcast band would bring in those exotic stations like XERB in Mexico where the rock music was non-stop.  Celebrity DJs like Wolfman Jack would come in like he was next door. There were other stations playing shows like Wayne Rainey who would try to convince you that you could play the harmonica in no time if you would order one with his instruction booklet.

If you liked jazz and big band music, there was WWL 870 am in New Orleans and just up the dial was WNOE 1040 in New Orleans playing any hit rock song you could imagine. If rock-a-billy was your music, then you could go to 1570 WLAC in Nashville.

With all these influences, it seemed like the natural thing to do was to get into broadcasting.  After listening to some of my voice recordings, my hope of being another great rock DJ began to fade.  I sounded more like Gomer Pyle than Dick Clark.  Of course there was another way to be a DJ.  If you owned the station, you could be the station manager, the advertising representative, the newsman, or the DJ.

I didn't have adequate knowledge to design and build a complete station, but I had lots of electronic catalogs,  There happened to be a kit for an AM transmitter in one of the Allied catalogs.  In the days before Fedex and UPS it seemed that an order took forever to get to your mailbox. The other problem with ordering was sending a type of payment that would be acceptable.  The instructions for payment usually narrowed your choice to cash or money order.  There was always a warning not to send cash, but a money order wasn't an option for me. I sent the fifteen dollars cash and hoped for it to make it through the system.

Now that my order was on it's way, all I could do was plan and wait for the U.S. Mail and the Allied Co. to do their part.

To be continued....

Horse Sense

Horses were a part of my early life because my Dad seemed to really like them.  Our house was on a lot that was too small for livestock, so Dad rented about five acres near us to grow some vegetables and board a horse.

Minniepearl was an old horse that was prone to ignore many of the distractions that would scare a younger horse.  She was also patient.  She would allow a seven year old to put a bridle on her in return for feed in a bucket and then stand still while the same kid parked her by something to climb on to reach her back.

Most of the time, the horseback ride was just a couple of laps around the pasture.  After the ride Minniepearl could go back to eating grass and doing the things that a horse does. This is the story if everything goes as usual.

Life seems to have those times when things refuse to be normal.  It is as if nature decides to present a test to see how a person will react to slightly different circumstances.  That morning the test number came up.

All was going well as I bridled Minniepearl and climbed on a feed bucket to ride her.  There were several trails in the pasture, so I chose one and rode off at a walk.  After a few minutes I noticed the trail I was riding went between a pine tree and a barbed wire fence.  Just to the right of the trail was an opening between two pine trees. As I was riding along I was estimating the width of the horse and my legs and wondering if I would fit between the fence and the tree or the two trees.  For some reason the calculation took longer than the trip to the problematic junction.

Minniepearl did not have the same problem making the decision of which route to choose.  She chose the path between the two trees,and in hindsight she made a good choice.  At the time it wasn't so obvious.  As she made her way between the trees my legs were caught on each side on the tree trunks. The fall was not unpleasant, but the contact with the ground caused a "thud" sound and a gasp for air as I attempted to draw another breath.

As I lay on my back, Minniepearl's head appeared above me.  It was if she came to see what had happened to me. My first reaction was to look around to see if anyone had seen me fall.This is the first time I have told this story, and I'm sure Minniepearl hasn't said a thing.

Date Night

In my high school years it was hard to keep a car running.  We had to share one car for the whole family.  Since the cars we owned were well used, they were constantly requiring repair.  This was repair to get the car in running condition.  To get the car in presentable dating condition was another step entirely.

The family car I had to work with at the time of this date was a 1953 Chevrolet.  If we ever had a lemon, this was it. At this time it seemed to be starting and running o.k., but the paint had a white haze over the blue color and the interior was filthy.  If this vehicle was going to be ready for a Saturday night date, I was going to have a long day of detailing.

At some point during the washing and polishing, I noticed a defect in the front left tire.  It was almost time to leave for town.  I really had to hurry now to change the tire and get cleaned up.

With breakneck speed I was able to get the tire changed and get a bath. Next was the moment of truth.  "Will it start?"  She turned over a couple of times and fired up as strong as a six cylinder Chevy could.

It was eight miles to town and I had about twenty minutes to make it, so I was hitting the high spots and cruising along.  There was about three miles of oil road before the asphalt road to town. Finally, the main road was in sight. I was feeling good about the day's work I had done, when suddenly the car swerved and took a nose dive to the left. With some effort I was able to get "old blue" over to the side of the road.

Just before completely stopping, I caught sight of a tire racing into the brush on the left side of the road.  On inspection "old blue" was missing a left front tire and wheel.  After retrieving the tire from the roadside, I noticed the hubcap was still on it.  As I rolled the tire back to the car, I could hear the rattling sound of lug nuts inside the hubcap. It seems that a wheel will stay on better if you actually take time to put the lug nuts on and tighten them.

The Scooter

My dad was a trader.  He and my uncle had a tire business and almost everyday someone would come by with something to trade or sell.  Sometimes the sale item would be an appliance or it might be produce or wheels.  Most of these items held little interest to me.  One day, however, dad brought home an item that caused my imagination to run wild.

I had never seen such an awesome scooter before.  It was a three wheeled Cushman with two wheels on the front.  The rear looked like a Cushman Husky.  It had a steering wheel like a car and a wooden platform on the front for carryng things.  The seat was on the engine cover and it had a kick start pedal at the front of the engine under the seat.  This was truly a piece of art.  It had a shifter on the side to select forward or reverse .  The brake and accelerator were on the floor in front of the seat. This vehicle was made for me.
It didn't take long to learn how to operate it and it got a daily work out as we drove it on the oil road in front of the house.  The most difficult part was starting it.  My brothers and I were about five to seven years old and none of us weighed more than fifty pounds.  It took all the effort we could muster to crank the scooter.  After we cranked it, we drove it until it ran out of gas.  Most of the time we would take turns driving.  Sometimes one of us would sit on the platform in front.It was on one of these trips with my little brother sitting on the platform, that the "accident" happened.

I was driving our usual route on the oil road.  We would go about a half mile to a cut through road and do a rolling turn around.  Things happened so fast that it was hard to keep the chain of events straight.  One moment my little brother was sitting on the scooter and next moment he was on the road with the right front tire on his head.  I stopped but I knew I had to move off of him, so I pulled forward.  All kinds of thoughts were running through my head.  "Was he dead? Was he seriously injured? How hard was my whipping going to be?"

After I pulled forward, my brother lay still for what seemed a long time.  Next, he began to struggle to stand up.  As he stood,  I couldn't take my eyes off his face.  He had a perfect copy of the scooter tire treads on his cheek.  His first words were " I'm going to kill you!". I knew he was o.k. when I heard that, so I accelerated as fast as I could to get away and think of a way to explain this to mother so I  could keep the scooter and ride another day.

Cowboys and Indians

Playing cowboys and Indians was a popular past time when I was about ten years old.  It didn't require a lot of props.  Sometimes my brothers and I would chase each other and wrestle like we saw in the movies.  Usually the cowboys had superior weapons.  The Indian would have a weed fashioned into a spear by stripping some leaves.  Most of the time the cowboy would have a play gun or pretend to have a gun and make sounds like "pow" or something similar.

On one particular occasion, the game took a more realistic turn. We decided to combine cowboys and Indians with riding our horses.  This seemed to be an authentic addition to the usual running through the woods and chasing each other on foot.  To add to the authenticity my youngest brother would be carrying his BB gun.  This was a little extra generous to allow the Indian to carry a rifle, but we were feeling generous that day.

It was decided that the Indian would be given a head start and shortly the cowboys would give chase.  As so often happens things didn't go exactly as expected.  After the Indian had begun his run for freedom,  the Indian pony he was riding, did a lightening turn around and broke into a gallop back towards us and the house. 

As the Indian raced by, all we heard was "Whoa!"  and the sound of BBs in the rifle which reminded us of maracas.  We thought the horse had either heard a rattlesnake or had a kind of snake avoidance instinct.  We had never seen that horse run so fast before.

We turned and gave chase but didn't gain a lot on the Indian pony.  It turned the corner headed for the house at a frightening speed.  My brother was holding the reins in one hand and his trusty rifle in the other.  He was exhibiting some fair skill in staying on the pony.  We always rode bareback, so there wasn't much to hold on to. 

The next turn was even more spectacular.  the horse was still running as fast as it could and made a left ninety degree turn thru the open barbed wire gate into the driveway. My brother somehow managed to stay on again but with a great deal of effort.  He still had that rifle in one hand.
It was about a hundred yards to the pasture gate by the barn; however, it was not straight ahead.  The gate was around another ninety degree turn to the right.  To make things more interesting, there was barbed wire fence bordering the drive all the way to the pasture gate. 

The next thing that happened was so quick that it was almost too fast to see.  The horse made the right turn towards the pasture gate still running full out.  Thankfully the gate was open.  When the horse made that right turn, my brother went airborne.  It seemed as though he was in flight for a long time.

His flight was the best part.  Next he made a series of touch downs on a lumber pile that was stacked there.  We will never totally agree on what happened, but I think he still had his BB gun when he came to a complete stop.

Although he didn't suffer any lasting injuries, I never saw my brother ride a horse with a BB gun after that. There was no official count, but there were a number of splinters missing from that lumber pile and you can guess where they were.

The Pond

On a typical summer day in East Texas it is very hot with a humidity factor near 100 per cent.  This kind of heat makes you seek relief in any way possible.

We had a livestock pond in the woods behind our house.  It was small but spring fed and cool in the summer. It was also surrounded by trees which provided extra cooling.  My two brothers and I would swim and cool off there quite often on a long hot summer day.

It was on one of these occasions that the "snake incident" occurred.  We were no strangers to snakes in East Texas.  They were fairly common.  They came in both poisonous and non-poisonous varieties.  Being near a pond the most likely type of snake to see was a water moccasin.

We had a tube from a rear tractor tire to use as a float.  Because of the large size of the tube, it required two to three of us to balance it so it wouldn't flip. As we were riding it one day, I was facing the south end of the pond where all the undergrowth and bushes were located.  A movement caught my eye which I quickly recognized as the classic figure "s" pattern of a snake swimming toward us.

My adrenalin was flowing as I yelled, "Snake!" Immediately, I was alone on the giant tube as it began to flip towards me.  The next moment I was thrown underwater and the tube was directly above me.  As I came up, I was inside the inner circle of the tube with no view of the pond in any direction.  If it were possible for a person to run on water, I am sure that I would have.

When I was finally able to get clear of the tube, I could see the snake still headed in my direction.  Running faster than I ever had, I got my .22 and some cartridges from the house and ran back to the pond.  By then the snake had decided to exit the water.  He was climbing through the brush as I fired at him, but as the bushes continued to move I realized I had missed.  He lived to see another day.

My life had flashed before my eyes as I fell into the pond backwards and fought to get out of the water.  We went back to swim at the pond many times after that day, but I never rode the tube that I couldn't control and we always looked towards the brushy end of the pond before swimming.

Big Red

Growing up in the 50's, entertainment was a little different from today.  Sometimes the fun came from simple things.  Playing games like cowboys and Indians, riding horses, and just swimming in the pond were some of the likely choices.

Sometimes the fun was a little more unusual.  This brings me to the memory of "Big Red." In those days it wasn't unusual for our family to have chickens running loose in the yard.  Today they would be called free range chickens.  They didn't get much attention except to avoid stepping in their droppings.  When these droppings were tracked into the house, they created quite a stir.  Everyone would immediately look at each other and then at their shoes.  Eventually the source would be found and the guilty party would be sent to do the outdoor shoe shuffle until the droppings were back in their normal place.

This was the main inconvenience of having free range chickens until Big Red appeared.  He was a large fierce looking rooster.  His appearance was even more pronounced by the way the sun would reflect off his feathers making them look shiny and giving him a look of majesty.  Over time Big Red began to exhibit aggressive behavior.  At first, he would simply act a little annoyed by people who happened to walk past him.  After a while, he would chase anyone who invaded his territory. The problem was that his territory kept expanding.

My brothers and I began to carefully survey the yard before walking anywhere.  Frequently, we would begin to cross the yard and before we knew it we would hear the unmistakable sound of Big Red running behind us. This sound would make us go from a normal walking speed to an all out racing gait in a moment's time.  Most of the time we would escape with little damage except to our dignity.

Over time we faced our fear by joking about how Big Red would chase us. Finally we made a game of racing with the big rooster.  If he could catch you, he would fly through the air and try to bury his two inch long spurs somewhere on your body.

It's true to say that Big Red was the king of the yard for a long time;however, most tyrants eventually meet their demise.  For Big Red his mistake was attacking my sister and drawing blood with his intimidating spurs.  Before you could say Big Red, he was the entree of the day.