We had a neighbor who for years ran the chicken farm across the road. A good looking banty sort of guy with boundless energy and kindness, and quite a streak of mischief. Once, when my husband was sitting at Larry's kitchen table soaking up some coffee and conversation after shifting pipe,
Wait a minute. Y'all know what shifting pipe means? Irrigation pipe comes in 3" diameter, 40ft. lengths. It has a 18" "riser' (vertical pipe) on one end with a sprinkler head on it, and a tricky little mechanism on the other end that locks the sections of pipe together. So, to shift pipe you pick up these 40 ft lengths of pipe, walk them down the field about 80 ft, and hook em together again by slamming the catch into the previous pipe and then jerking it back.
If you don't do this right, when the water comes on, you have a blowout, the pipes come apart and a chunk of your crop washes away along with a lot of topsoil.
So, anyway, Mark is sitting there soaking up the coffee and conversation when Larry runs in the door and shouts, "My Gosh, Mark, you better check your pipes! You've got great gouts of water spraying out every 40 ft.!" So Mark slaps down his coffee, dashes out the door, runs across to his field, and low and behold, there is his irrigation system, with great sprays of water coming out of the sprinkler heads every 40 ft, just like it's supposed to be. And then Mark realized that was just what Larry said.

Larry used to hire the local high school kids to catch the chickens for him when it was time to ship them out. This is done at night in minimal light when the chickens are sleeping. One time, as they were finishing up, one of the boys asked him if they could each have a chicken as part of their pay. They were trying to get together a flock to give one of the local families who were having a hard time financially, the boy said.
Sure, Larry said.
He loaded the birds up with the kids and sent them on their way, and he didn't see the chickens again until about 11 the next morning when the irate mailman pulled into his drive, his truck filled with squawking flapping fowl. "These yours?" he snarled at Larry.
"Yep, where'd you find 'em?"
Seems that every time the mailman opened a mailbox, out flapped an angry chicken.

Blessings,
Barbara