My most memorable Easter is one that actually started as a somewhat traumatic experience.
When I was young my grandmother lived on a farm. She had all sorts of different animals. I loved the chickens the best and always wanted to help gather eggs. The chickens were allowed to roam all over, they weren’t confined to a chicken coop or hen house.
On this particular Easter Sunday I was two or three years old. I was young, probably hopped up on too much sugar, and bored with the whole family sitting around inside visiting. I wanted to play outside. My dad was supposed to be watching me because none of my older cousins or any other adults were outdoors. Who knows where my dad went, but he was definitely not watching me (something not so unusual).
I remember walking around the barnyard, going to look at the goats, swinging in the back yard, and deciding to check out the chickens. That’s where I got into trouble.
Two large Bantam roosters took notice of me and began to follow me around the yard, first at a distance. Then they got closer. And closer. I became frightened and started running for the house. I ran up the front porch steps, hastily knocked on the door, and then ran off as the roosters followed me up the steps and kept coming at me.
I jumped off of the porch and ran around the house to get to the back door. The roosters followed. I ran up the back steps and knocked on the door. The roosters came at me again, so I ran down the steps and towards the barn, thinking maybe they wouldn’t follow. But they did.
Again I ran around to the front of the house, climbed the steps and banged on the door, but before anyone could answer I was chased off by the two chickens. I tripped, dirtied my Easter dress, and scraped my knees and palms. I tried the back door again but had no luck. I ran to the front of the house again.
This time, one rooster caught up with me and jumped on my left shoulder. I slowed down, not knowing what to do and starting to become winded from running so much. The second rooster jumped on my right shoulder. They both started pecking me.
I ran for the house, screaming. My mom stepped out the front door, saw what was happening, and shooed them off. With a flap of their wings and a few more pecks they jumped down and walked away.
I’m sure I was quite a sight.
I was afraid of the chickens for a long time after that. I can look back and laugh now, but it wasn’t funny to me then. That really was the beginning of a lifetime of unpleasant encounters with birds- sometime I will have to tell the stories of a bird that attacked me at a zoo, a bird that got stuck in my hair at Sea World, and a bird that pooped on my head at another zoo. I still don’t care too much for birds.
What is your favorite Easter memory?