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Dr. Ronald P. Rogers CHIROPRACTOR Support for your body's natural healing capabilities 270-384-5554 Click here for details 
  
Columbia Gas Dept. GAS LEAK or GAS SMELL Contact Numbers 24 hrs/ 365 days 270-384-2006 or 9-1-1 Call before you dig 
Visit ColumbiaMagazine's Directory of Churches Addresses, times, phone numbers and more for churches in Adair County Find Great Stuff in ColumbiaMagazine's Classified Ads Antiques, Help Wanted, Autos, Real Estate, Legal Notices, More... 
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Grandson/Grandmother email correspondence: chickens The chicken stories below are between my son, Pen, and my mom, Geniece Marcum, when he was in college and she was learning how to use a little Mac computer he'd set up for her. He helped us both get started emailing. On one of my visits with her, she had me open her email and I couldn't resist asking if I could keep these two notes from their correspondence. - Linda Waggener Pen to his Grandmother Marcum: Morris a big city CPA, moves to the country and decides he's going to take up farming. He heads to the local co-op and tells the man, "Give me 100 baby chickens." The co-op man complies. A week later Morris returns and says, "Give me 200 baby chickens." The co-op man complies. Again, a week later the man returns. This time he says, "Give me 500 baby chickens." "Wow!" the co-op man replies, "You must really be doing well!" "Naw," said Morris with a sigh, "I'm either planting them too deep or too far apart!" Reply to Grandson: I enjoyed the joke, planting chickens. As I read it I was reminded of the time when I buried a baby chick alive. It was one that the roosters kept pecking every time he came around. I was so little I don't recall doing it, but older members of the family used to laugh about it now and then. My mother rescued the little fellow in the nick of time, I'm told, after noticing a fresh mound of dirt squirming around under a pear tree. Since I'd just been playing there I suppose she figured I was the guilty culprit. When she asked me why I buried it, they said my reply was, "The damned ole caw-caws were trying to kill it." I have no idea how old I was at the time but according to Momma, my brother Robert had taught me to cuss like a sailor when I was very small, and from all reports I must have gotten pretty good at telling them all where to go. I hadn't thought of that one in years. Love from Mema This story was posted on 2019-11-29 18:55:49
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