Miss Vinney's Chickens Get Lead Poisoning

Ya’ll remember Miss Vinney, the one what loves animals and beat that possum to death a while back?  Well, that same Vinney raises some of the finest chickens this side of Nashville and folks ‘round here agree, if you want the best chicken for Sunday dinner or the best eggs to be had, you go see Vinney.  It’s just a fact.  Miss Vinney’s got the single biggest chicken house hands down with ‘bout 300 hens and 4 lucky ole roosters.  She’s also got the only hen house in the state I bet what has curtains in the windows.  Vinney allows as there’s no reason her flock can’t enjoy somethin’ nice for all the good they do for her.  I guess I can see her point if I think on it long enough.

Vinney was lookin’ through the National Geographic a while back and came across a story ‘bout how music can be of use in soothin’ chickens and served on a number of occasions to increase their layin’ abilities.  To me it sounded alot like talkin’ to your vegetable garden but to Vinney’s way of thinkin’ it made a lot of sense.  As she didn’t own no stereo system nor radio, Vinney took to singin’ gospel favorites to those chickens every evenin’ around sunset.  If you was to drive by her house with a window or two rolled down you could hear her beltin’ out “Let the Waters Quench Satan’s Fire” or “I’m Just a Babe but I Carry the Sword of Truth”.  Seemed to work I have to admit but, I don’t know whether those chickens was lay more cause they was startled or cause they figure if they di she’d hush and go away.

Vinney had a Blue Heeler and what appear to some to be a little Border Collie, if’n you was to look at it a certain way, that guarded those chickens like they was pups.  If the dogs was around and you’as to approach the chicken house you’d have to pass by lots of teeth and standin’ fur.  I do believe those mutts was as proud of those chickens as Vinney herself.  I was down to Paramore’s general store near the end of November a few years ago when I heard about Vinney findin’ a couple of her prize chickens had expired settin’ right there on their nests.  To say the least she’s mighty upset about it and through the comin’ week she lost about 20 more.  Seems they’s either dyin’ in the night or just plumb fallin’ over dead in the yard.  One minute they’d be a peckin’ and a scratchin’ an the next they’d layin’ there with their beaks open and their eyes a cross ways.  Vinney knowed it was too cold for snakes and Mr. Paramore swore his feed was good so it couldn’t be that and seein’ as how she had to do something she gathered up a couple of the fallen dead chickens and carried them over to Harlon Stubach’s youngest boy Archibald what was a chemist and demanded he find out what was a killin’ her chickens.  Now granted, Archie was a chemist but he worked for the paper mill over toward Howardsville and didn’t know a dang thing ‘bout chickens but, seein’ as how Miss Vinney was so upset he promised to check out them two dead hens and let her know what he thought.

Well, the first thing Archie found was that Vinney’s chickens had died of lead poisonin’.  The second was that their little bellies contained a number of lead pellets like would come from a shotgun shell.  You can just imagine what Vinney thought.  Someone was of a purpose poisoin’ her chickens just for meaness as she couldn’t name no real enemies.  She was fit to be tied.  When I heard the cause of Miss Vinney’s loss the first thing I did was call Poke Paramore and tell him to meet me to the general store as we was headin’ up to Linville Kentucky to buy us some chickens.  Ya see, the lead that was responsible for the demise of Vinney’s chickens came from me and Poke.  Not of a purpose but on accident.

Miss Vinney’s property on the north side butts up agin Mr. Paramore’s bean field.  There ain’t nothin’ but a medium size ridge runs between the two and they both consider it the property line.  Come fall, Paramore’s bean field is some of the best dove huntin’ to be had in these parts, namely cause he’s got a little pond on the backside of the field.  Me an Poke’d take us a stool and set up right at the edge of the woods and shoot across towards that pond as the dove flew in for a drink.  What we didn’t realize was as we was a shootin’, if we was to shoot to high, that shot, number 9 bird shot, was crossin’ that medium size ridge and sprinklin’ down into Vinney’s chicken yard.  When them chickens, not bein’ the brightest of God’s creatures, came out to peck and scratch they was pickin’ up shotgun pellets and within a week they’d keel over deader’n a hammer.

Me and Poke drove up to Linville and bought 25 fine layin’ hens at the co-op.  We coulda gone over to Ripley to the farmer’s market but we’s afraid someone’d catch sight of us and wonder what we’s buyin’ chickens for.  Comin’ home we stopped by Miss Vinney’s house and told her since she’s so upset over her loss we thought the neighborly thing to do would be to get her some more chickens to fill the void.  Poke opined that there may just be somethin’ in the soil of that chicken yard that was doin’ her chickens in and he offered our services to clean the yard real good.  We scraped down that yard best we could, mainly looking for little lead pellets, then we let those new layin’ hens loose.  Long ‘bout dark we went home leavin’ a mighty happy Vinney and feelin’ like we dodged a bullet.  The next year when me an Poke was walkin’ down the road with our shotguns to get us some dove we happened to pass Miss Vinney’s.  She was settin’ on her porch swing breakin’ pole beans and hollered out, “You boys be sure and shoot away from my chicken yard this year if ya would.”