The great chicken massacre of 82' (1982 that is) PT 1.

The summer of 1982 was a very hot and dry summer in Arkansas. You could see the earth crack in places where the grass had quit growing in the yard and dust just seemed to hang in the air for hours. Even a small dust trail followed behind my bicycle as me, Sam, and my best friend, J.T. peddaled up the hill to J.T's house.
Now J.T. Senior never believed in fixing any of his old cars or trucks, when they broke down, he just tied a tractor on them and dragged them out in the pasture and then they became a free storage for them to fill up with junk. Since there was at least 6 or 7 of these "statues", no one could miss whose house J.T.'s was.
As we slammed on the brake and did the evil kneivel slide into JT's yard we noticed his coon hounds, all three of them, in the garden beside his house having a fit over something. As we got closer we saw that somehow the dogs, or something else, had managed to kill about 9 or 10 small chickens and feathers were everywhere. We thought real quick and then JTs eye lit up and with his deepest voice, he said, "boys there aint but one thing to do for these here fine birds, weve got to have a funeral for them, and we cant have a funeral unless we have some hymns too, and we had better dress up." And away we went to gather the "neccesties" for giving the chickens a proper burial......