Times and Tribulations of a Free range child.

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Humor  |  House: Booksie Classic
There was a day long ago that farm kids lived as free range children. Free to roam wherever their short legs would take them. Said legs took them mostly straight into trouble.

Back in the day most farm kids were considered 'Free Range' children. That is they were booted out the front door into the wild farm yard and told not to return unless they were hungry. They were always hungry, and soon found their way to the back door begging to be let in for some food.

Submitted: April 07, 2015

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Submitted: April 07, 2015

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There was a day long ago that farm kids lived as free range children. Free to roam wherever their short legs would take them. Said legs took them mostly straight into trouble.

Back in the day most farm kids were considered 'Free Range' children. That is they were booted out the front door into the wild farm yard and told not to return unless they were hungry. They were always hungry, and soon found their way to the back door begging to be let in for some food.

“You have been gone for three minutes,” the parent may say, “You can not be hungry yet. But just in case you are, here is a carrot.” Free range children hated carrots. Almost as much as they hated chickens. It was a toss-up.

“If you are bored,” they may say, “Go gather some eggs.”

This struck fear into a free range child. Gathering eggs meant getting close to a—Gasp! – chicken! The meanest critter in a farmers arsenal of bad critters! Bantam chickens were the worse of the lot. Mad at the world just because they were short. They took it out on anything and anyone. Peck, Peck at everything.“While you're at it, spread some feed for them.” Oh no! Now the free range child had to get into the hen house. Not good. Trouble with a big “C”. The free ranger had to work through the many chicken droppings just to get to a nest where the laying hens liked to loiter all day being too fat and lazy to do a lick of work unlike a horse or cow. The smell bad enough to water your nose. Ugh! Watch your step, a free ranger will tell himself/herself. Chickens did not care what gender you were. They just knew you were fair game to attack. The managing rooster knew you were coming and gave out a loud warning. Then all the worker roosters ran toward you willing to peck and scratch you until you finally got two unbroken eggs and ran like the devil was after you. Which he was. The free ranger forgot all about the orders to “Feed the Chickens”. Chickens could look out for themselves.

It was not easy being a free range child. Most had nightmares for years after attempting to gather eggs. Many a nightmare consisted of getting the chicken ready for the stew pot.


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