When there is drought in South Carolina, the population of black widow spiders explodes. Every nook and cranny has that characteristic funnel webbing that warns of danger. Back in the old days, everyone kept a couple of chickens and they would watch these webbed holes, holding perfectly still until the spider would emerge, and, faster than lightening, the chicken would gulp it down, immune to the spider’s venom.
In the modern age, you can take a can of computer cleaning spray and jam it in the crack and freeze the spider and egg sack. If you have a large property or a barn though, chickens are still the way to go. Climbing 20′ into the rafters of a barn with a can of computer spray is inefficient and dangerous.With this in mind, I went on a chicken hunt. I was looking for large fully adult chickens. Hungry ones.
I found chickens. They were in a dilapidated chicken yard under the watchful eye of a huge red and perfectly plumed rooster. The hens on the other hand had been plucked almost completely bald. And not by the owners. Roosters, when in the throes of passion, grab the hen by the back of the neck and sink their claws into her back, ripping out her feathers. If they really, really like a special hen, she can really suffer. These were the gals I brought home. I’ll go to my grave before I tell anyone what I paid for these unfortunate love slaves. Arriving at home, I faced the task of carefully washing them with antibacterial skin wash and applying wound coat to the huge bald patches. It took forever and now I have my own wounds to tend. I don’t smell too hot,either. They are giving me the evil eye, in spite of their luxurious meal of grain, squash, tomatoes and eggplant. Oh well. No more amour for you, honey.
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