Spring Chickens, Chicken Shit and Sparrows

Spring Chickens, Chicken Shit and Sparrows

My mom use to talk about spring chickens. Every now and then she also liked to tell us that someone had called us.
“Who?”
“Sparrows.”
“Sparrows?…”
“Yes. They thought you were chicken shit.”
And then she’d laugh and laugh. And we’d laugh because she was laughing though we never got the joke. But she was raised on a farm and knew about spring chickens and chicken shit and sparrows and maybe there was some kind of hilarious symbiotic relationship between them all.
Though she was probably just repeating a botched translation of a bad Swedish joke her parents told her. And they laughed and laughed and nobody knew why either.
But it’s spring and that’s all about rejuvenation as insane and irrational as that all is.
And maybe if and when I have kids I’ll talk about spring chickens.
And when I die and all the springs are over, I’m going to have “Someone Called Me” engraved on my tombstone and hopefully everyone in the family will laugh and laugh.

Spring Chickens, Chicken Shit and Sparrows

My mom use to talk about spring chickens. Every now and then she also liked to tell us that someone had called us.
“Who?”
“Sparrows.”
“Sparrows?…”
“Yes. They thought you were chicken shit.”
And then she’d laugh and laugh. And we’d laugh because she was laughing though we never got the joke. But she was raised on a farm and knew about spring chickens and chicken shit and sparrows and maybe there was some kind of hilarious symbiotic relationship between them all.
Though she was probably just repeating a botched translation of a bad Swedish joke her parents told her. And they laughed and laughed and nobody knew why either.
But it’s spring and that’s all about rejuvenation as insane and irrational as that all is.
And maybe if and when I have kids I’ll talk about spring chickens.
And when I die and all the springs are over, I’m going to have “Someone Called Me” engraved on my tombstone and hopefully everyone in the family will laugh and laugh.

Spring Chickens, Chicken Shit and Sparrows

My mom use to talk about spring chickens. Every now and then she also liked to tell us that someone had called us.
“Who?”
“Sparrows.”
“Sparrows?…”
“Yes. They thought you were chicken shit.”
And then she’d laugh and laugh. And we’d laugh because she was laughing though we never got the joke. But she was raised on a farm and knew about spring chickens and chicken shit and sparrows and maybe there was some kind of hilarious symbiotic relationship between them all.
Though she was probably just repeating a botched translation of a bad Swedish joke her parents told her. And they laughed and laughed and nobody knew why either.
But it’s spring and that’s all about rejuvenation as insane and irrational as that all is.
And maybe if and when I have kids I’ll talk about spring chickens.
And when I die and all the springs are over, I’m going to have “Someone Called Me” engraved on my tombstone and hopefully everyone in the family will laugh and laugh.Spring Chickens, Chicken Shit and Sparrows

My mom use to talk about spring chickens. Every now and then she also liked to tell us that someone had called us.
“Who?”
“Sparrows.”
“Sparrows?…”
“Yes. They thought you were chicken shit.”
And then she’d laugh and laugh. And we’d laugh because she was laughing though we never got the joke. But she was raised on a farm and knew about spring chickens and chicken shit and sparrows and maybe there was some kind of hilarious symbiotic relationship between them all.
Though she was probably just repeating a botched translation of a bad Swedish joke her parents told her. And they laughed and laughed and nobody knew why either.
But it’s spring and that’s all about rejuvenation as insane and irrational as that all is.
And maybe if and when I have kids I’ll talk about spring chickens.
And when I die and all the springs are over, I’m going to have “Someone Called Me” engraved on my tombstone and hopefully everyone in the family will laugh and laugh.