Facing your fears

When I was that age, I owned a machete. lol Oh, how times have changed. Sigh.

A similar incident happened in our back yard late last summer. My wife had one of those little baseball bats you can buy at the ball game as a souvenir. The rooster lost that battle and ended up in a crockpot about 15 minutes later.... I so wish I had that on video. lol
 
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That poor kid is probably going to be traumatized for life. I still remember when I was 4 years old and my uncle's tom turkey attacked me. Actually, I think he was trying to make love to me, but either way it was scary. Lucky for me, my older cousin was there to beat it with a stick.

Neighbor growing up had an attack turkey.

My mom shot it 3 or 4 times with an H&R .22 pistol one day after it attacked her and it actually survived that and it and lived to be an old bird. Never came into our yard again. lol

School bus eventually got his a$$.
 
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Growing up, my younger sister talked about a rooster that would get her while feeding calves. Anytime my dad or I went out with her to see this, it never did anything. One day I hid and watched from a distance and sure enough she was telling the truth. I made a plan with her to get that rooster coming after her and run around the corner of the calf shed where I would be waiting. Plan was in motion when I heard her scream that she was headed my way. She had a good start on the rooster, came around the corner and I started my swing with a long-handled scoop shovel when I first saw it. It didn’t have time to stop by the time that swing connected and launched that old boy about twenty feet. He got up, shook his feathers and never chased her again. The look on that birds face when he hit the ground was priceless.
 
I'm only afraid of one thing. There's no facing that one and I'll never tell anyone what it is. This story is one of those where you remember the story that has been retold rather than actual events, I guess. Kinda like telling an older sibling you remember when they were born.

When I was around six years old, we got goats. One little billy would find me whenever I went outside. It was as big as I was. Licking and nibbling freaked me out. It didn't matter what I did or where I went, it'd come looking for me. Trying to wrestle it or kick it did nothing. Add some butting and it got to where I wouldn't go outside.

My father thought it'd be a good idea to give me a claw hammer to bolster my courage. He said to carry it with me to take care of that goat if it bothered me again. I don't think he realized how bad it was and how much I hated that goat. Once I got the hammer the goat did not have to come find me. I went and found it.

The first thing I did each day after I got the hammer was go find that goat and knock it out cold. After a few days of the billy getting laid out, my brothers told on me. Daddy took the hammer. The goat never bothered me again.

It just occurred to me that while I've never had any interested in hunting sheep, I'd really like to get a mountain goat. Deep seated.
 
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