When I was a youngster, 100 years ago, we raised chickens and turkeys. This was during WW2 ... it was part of our "war effort" And yes, as a kritter, I spaded the soil and I had my own small "victory garden." (I told you I was old).

Now I suspect that this next story might be not believed. But it's true. I know ... I was there. As a youngster, if I happened to cut myself, or get a bad scrape, my father would take me to the chicken yard and put a handfull of fresh ... warm ... chickenshit on the wound. I kid you not. The wound always healed very quickly without any scar., bob(deckman)nelson