A Super Egg Producing Chicken from the Depths of Hell

Virginia, United States


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If you like your skin intact, stay away like you just heard a town was infested with zombies.

If you want a good egg laying breed of chicken and are a Kung Fu Master of have super-regenerative powers like Wolverine from X-Men, then leghorns are the bird for you.

Where was I? Oh yes, my recommendation on the breed...

About a month before Foghorn became my version of Popeyes extra spicy, I had another altercation with him when he thought I was about to make time with one of his special ladies. He came at me spurs first but this time I knew his moves and countered them with a swinging egg basket. It was the most sublime feeling in the world to have that basket connect with his head after he got close enough to dig the spur in (no ER trip but a salt water bath--UGH).

I gave him an extra helping that night and started adding lots of corn and sunflower seeds. I began to smile at him every day knowing that someday soon, oh yes, he would be mine.

I guess it was a month, month and a half later that I was working in the garden and had this "feeling" of being watched. I stopped weeding, looked around, and didn't see anything so I went back to what i was doing. That's when he made his movie--I'm telling you our fight was like something out of Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon...this time I'm using hand tools to defend myself and kicking at him. He'd come for me, I'd do a flying spin and come for him. This fight went on for several minutes until the Great Pyr showed up and he ran off like the vanquished villain he was.

I refused to gather eggs again unless i was able to lure him into the garden first. I also began my plot to turn him into a Fourth of July fried chicken meal by giving him extra food every day.

So there I was gathering eggs and minding my own business when this demon from the depths of Hell jumps me again, flogging my back and spurring me on my bottom--I mean he had serious lift. I start screaming and running around like I'm on fire (it felt like it) in the process the other chickens are jumping about screeching. I finally get away from him, not sure how--maybe I had a guardian angel, and I slam the door.

About two weeks after the first attempt on my life, Foghorn made his move. I think he laid low for two weeks so that I would be lulled into a false sense of security about gathering eggs. Anyway, I go into their pen to start gathering and at first he's all scratching around the feeder all nonchalant like, and I begin to remove the eggs from the coop and put them in the basket. If this was a movie, the theme from Jaws would have started the moment I opened the gate...

For some reason I didn't return home and cook Foghorn. I thought I would give him another chance...another chance to KILL me, that is.

I have been flogged a handful of times in my life, once by a Polish rooster and the rest by leghorns. In fact, I went to the ER after being spurred by "Foghorn" the rooster donated to me (I should have seen that one coming but I fell for the name) by the man selling me the chickens. Good old Foghorn spurred me in the knee producing this "boil" I don't know what you want to call it, but it was the grossest injury I have ever had in my life. Even at the ER they made a face.

I was told a great many tales by farmers that their reputation is just a bad rap and that they are no worse than any other chicken, just a bit flightier.

Alright I will share the good first because I have a lot of strong feelings about the Leghorn chicken...they lay eggs. Lots of them. Lots of big white eggs. They mature quickly and start laying. Eggs, tons of them you will get. That is what they are known for and good for. Eggs.