Here’s another of my favorite posts. It still gets a lot of activity, but I don’t think I can take credit. It appears that a lot of people are curious about “chicken foot necklaces,” and their google searches lead them here.
I bet they’re just a little irritated when they read what I wrote. (For the record, I am not connected to voodoo in any way.)
***
Originally posted as “So what DO you do with a Voodoo Doberman?” on September 3, 2008.
Based on the blog name, you might think that as an outsider, I am making fun of the rural South. But here’s the truth:
I grew up in California, but in the part that nobody knows about: central California. During my teen years, my family lived in a single-wide mobile home – with the wheels still on – on one dusty acre behind my parents’ junk store.
Yes. Junk store.
Surrounded by cotton fields and dairies, our household consisted of four people, five dogs, one horse, and anywhere from five to twenty chickens.
One of our dogs was named Buffalo, and he had issues with cats. He hated them. When we moved to the country, he quickly transferred this animosity to the chickens. In fact, Buffalo made it his mission to purge our property of poultry.
I heart alliteration.
***
My dad built a Buffalo-proof pen, so the dog spent most of the day glaring through the wire at his feathered enemies. He was biding his time, because he had learned that my little sister wasn’t consistent at latching the chicken gate. She forgot about once every three months.
Chickens being, well, chickens, an open gate drew them out into the yard. And to their demise. It never happened when we were home to witness it, so here’s what we gathered from forensic evidence:
Buffalo waited until all the chickens left the pen. Then he systematically killed them. And stacked them in a neat pile against the fence. Why? Was he obsessive-compulsive? We never knew for sure.
My parents tried every solution, but Buffalo could not be broken of his chicken habit. As a last resort my dad tried something that the old-timers swore by: letting the animal live with the consequences of his actions – literally.
So, after the next killing spree, my dad chose a dead chicken – our biggest rooster, as it happened – and tied the carcass to Buffalo’s collar. The idea was to leave it there until your dog grew to hate chickens, and then he’d never go near them again.
So hanging from our Doberman’s neck, tied by the feet and dragging on the ground, was a chicken pendant. A chicken necklace. A chicken choker.
***
This training method did not have the desired effect. Buffalo soon adjusted to the weight and awkwardness of his new accessory. And apparently the smell. In fact, I think he kind of forgot it was there.
Days passed, and the rooster rotted in the 100-degree heat. We girls spent our time outside dodging a VERY FRIENDLY 90-pound dog as he dragged around what looked like a large feather duster. A large smelly feather duster that kept shedding body parts all over the yard.
Even my dad questioned his plan when he realized that he’d lost his junk store dog. He couldn’t really lock Buffalo and a dead chicken in the store every night.
***
So eventually Dad decided to remove the carcass, and there was much rejoicing in the land. But the morning he was set to do it, a chickenless dog greeted us. At first it looked like the chicken had finally disintegrated.
But then we saw it: Buffalo had removed the chicken himself, by chewing it off at the feet.
The only thing hanging from his collar now, like the necklace of a voodoo queen, was a pair of large bright-yellow chicken feet.
See? Rednecks = my people. The soil may be red here instead of brown, but it feels like home to me.
Note: When my mom read this original post, she and her friends quickly left comments correcting its “inaccuracies.” Some of those comments are funnier than what I wrote.
And they led me to post a follow-up on September 5. For the rest of the story, click on:
34 responses so far ↓
1 Helen // Jan 9, 2009 at 2:40 am
So. Is there a contest or something for post names that will bring unusual lurkers? Cuz if so , I am in. I will spend the whole morning thinking on this….
2 Nick the Geek // Jan 9, 2009 at 3:07 am
I love stories from my childhood. This certainly approaches the level of craziness that I have experienced growing up. Most of my family is in extreme rural Alabama and Georgia though so you'll have to try harder to top the tales I have to tell. (put that in because you love alliteration not much but it is something.)
3 Beth // Jan 9, 2009 at 4:02 am
I love this story in so many ways…reminds me of my husband's stories of being chased by the evil neighbor chickens on his way to the school bus every day. During some of his childhood, his household also consisted of 4 people, many dogs, a mobile home, and a horse….maybe some ducks…but no chickens. He still hates chickens!
Doesn't everyone google chicken foot necklaces? I know I do first thing every day.
4 All Rileyed Up // Jan 9, 2009 at 6:10 am
Ha! Awesome story! Very vivid. Would make for a great Flannery O Connor story. Were you near Bakersfield? I lived there, briefly.
5 steffj89 // Jan 9, 2009 at 6:17 am
LMHO….I must say I still dont think I qualify as a redneck, but I married one…and I have definitely given birth to three of them….I was a city kid, I remember things about growing up like that the local bank got robbed a couple of times every summer and the idiots always used the same getaway path and we could sit on the top of our 3 story playhouse and watch the cops chase them. Our idea of an exciting Saturday afternoon was to ride our bikes to TG&Y(remember them? ) and watch the police bust the teenage shoplifters.
Chris on the other hand grew up in a blended mix of cousins and family and friends closer than family roaming around on some 4000 acres and wrecked his first car when he was 8 cause his grandma sent him to the store in her car by himself cause it was only 5 miles….
steff
6 DEAR GABBY // Jan 9, 2009 at 7:09 am
I found you by my google search of chicken foot BRACELETS. (Not as hard core voodoo.)
Your site came up again sometime later while searching for SUGAR FREE diet tips and recipes.
Glad I found you. You're hilarious!
7 @ngie // Jan 9, 2009 at 8:17 am
I tell you what… If I were an obsessive compulsive dog with a chicken disorder and some dude strapped a dead rooster around my neck I would either 1) learn my lesson darn fast or 2) go more crazy than I already was – no matter how friendly I was. That is hilarious!
8 @ngie // Jan 9, 2009 at 8:18 am
oops – my hyperlink is bad up there… this is the right one.
9 Annie K // Jan 9, 2009 at 8:55 am
My mom grew up in Modesto (dirt country) and had a dad who was prejudice against Okies. He was from Minnesota and I guess they're better up there or something. My mom always snuck her Okie friends home through the bedroom window.
10 Steph // Jan 9, 2009 at 9:01 am
Oh yes, Helen! That's a GREAT idea! Then we'll track how many "unusual" lurkers we get. The winner gets a name change and entry in the witness protection program.
11 Steph // Jan 9, 2009 at 9:02 am
Try me Nick. I got a million of em.
12 Steph // Jan 9, 2009 at 9:03 am
Personally, I google "dueling banjo possums." It always leads to my blog. I don't know why…
13 Steph // Jan 9, 2009 at 9:04 am
Oh, Flannery flattery! Thank you! I'd love to be as bizarre as she is. And I lived only an hour north of Bakersfield. We were more podunk than they were.
14 Steph // Jan 9, 2009 at 9:05 am
Yeah, my kids are total rednecks. "Shoes? We don't need no stinkin shoes! Mom! Can we play in the treehouse in our pajamas?"
15 Steph // Jan 9, 2009 at 9:07 am
Gabby, I do appreciate the compliment. But I have to remind you – you've been here before. Maybe the transformation between yourself and that Sherri chick affects your memory? Also: I feel like one of those restaurant owners who writes glowing reviews of his own restaurant under a pseudonym. I want everyone to know: this is Sherri's pseudonym, NOT mine!
16 Steph // Jan 9, 2009 at 9:08 am
Ahhhh, THAT would explain a lot. Since he did NOT learn his lesson, then I guess he did go more crazy. Maybe he was just acting friendly in order to rub chicken guts on us…
17 Steph // Jan 9, 2009 at 9:09 am
Modesto's not far from Visalia, where I was. And yes, it's a little odd the ideas about Okies. For those who don't know, a lot of Okies came to Central California during the dustbowl years. I lived the sequel to the Grapes of Wrath.
18 katdish // Jan 9, 2009 at 9:19 am
Here's what I'm wondering…
What kind of scary *ss home movies did your relatives have to sit through?
19 Matt // Jan 9, 2009 at 10:38 am
Steph – Sweet post. And I will pray for you in your unspiritualisiousness for mistaking fruit for a butt.
20 Steph // Jan 10, 2009 at 1:09 am
Sadly, we have no video record of these events. In fact, you have no way of knowing if I'm making all of this up…. Makes you wonder, doesn't it?
21 Steph // Jan 10, 2009 at 1:10 am
Please do pray for me. I've got some serious issues with unspiritualiciousness and lack of holirifficness.
22 Carol // Jan 10, 2009 at 2:28 am
I want the link to the original post. I'm dying to see what your Mama and her friends had to say.
Y'all should have sicced Cesar Milan on that dog.
23 Nick the Geek // Jan 10, 2009 at 3:13 am
SO I adopted your idea from last Saturday and posted it today as promised even with computer difficulties.
24 SHERRI // Jan 10, 2009 at 4:08 am
This is a personal invitation to my VERY FAVORITE sarcastic blogger to caption the humorous photo of the day! You will be in your element. No serious artsy spiritual painting to caption in order to impress the artist's mother .
I need some sugar-free Steph comment to make my Saturday complete!
25 steffj89 // Jan 10, 2009 at 4:53 am
oh my goodness…while on one hand i am rolling laughing the other part of me…the one thats really proud to be an okie is a bit frustrated by the whole okie generalizations….when i moved to philadelphia in the early 90s the stupid questions like what we did for fun without television drove me nuts…
we live about an hour south of Miami(a) OK….LOL
26 Grace // Jan 10, 2009 at 5:01 am
Oh THANK YOU for posting this again. I wasn't blogging in September and feel awful to think that I would have missed this post completely, had I not taken up blogging in October…and kept at it until now! This is hilarious! And delightful! And…and…I'll be back!
27 Mom // Jan 10, 2009 at 9:20 am
I laughed as hard reading this again along with our subsequent bantering as I did
the first time I read it. I'm surprised you haven't written a few stories about our renters,
especially the lady climbing over the fence and into our backyard to escape her homicidal knife carrying boyfriend. Our attack dog waiting for her was an easy trade off to her at the time. Daddy chasing the lunatic's car down the driveway in his underwear (daddy was in his underwear, not the lunatic) made this story even better. Or, did you sleep through all of this since it was the middle of the night? Mom
28 Nick the Geek // Jan 10, 2009 at 12:02 pm
That is actually how my wife's grandpa got to California. He was from Miami (pronounced Miama) OK.
29 katdish // Jan 11, 2009 at 4:47 am
"If yer dog has a chicken carcass tied around his neck….you might be a redneck. (Thanks, I'll be here all week. Try the veal!)
30 Michelle at Scribbit // Jan 12, 2009 at 3:18 am
LOVE the new header–and the post is a hoot! Who knew??
31 Steph // Jan 13, 2009 at 2:11 am
Glad you like my new header. It's my favorite too.
And yeah, google searches are really entertaining.
32 Steph // Jan 13, 2009 at 2:33 am
I promise the homicidal renters story is now on my to-do list. (Do you mind if I refer to you and Daddy as slumlords?
33 Mom // Jan 13, 2009 at 3:39 am
Goodie! If you need memory refreshing and/or details you might have missed, let me know. Uh slumlords….nah. Since we were very fair to our renters and always fixed things for them, we can't be slum lords. It needs to be a classy name
Too bad we don't have a nice picture of the store showing the one room cabins on the property. It would be a nice touch to your blog. Mom
34 faemom // Jan 13, 2009 at 5:53 am
Great posts! Hilarious! I'm always amazed who was raised where and how because most of the time you can't tell.
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