My Uncle George swings me out the back door, allowing the salty air smack me in the face.  He puts me down and I instinctually examine the fenced-in yard before me.  I can smell the flowers blooming in the bed to my right and I can hear seagulls in the distance calling to one another but my eyes were drawn to the shack in the back corner of the yard.

"What's out back there?” turning back to Uncle George.

He calmly replies, "Why, that where I keep all my chickens, and where they lay their eggs.  I'll tell you want, why don't go around back and you can feed 'em."  A surge of nervousness and excitement rush through me. Within seconds I’m at the side of the coop.

Hanging there are two aprons, one large one for my uncle, and one miniature sized apron just for me. My uncle skillfully throws and ties his around himself, turns to me, and helps tie mine.  My cheeks begin to ache from the constant smile drawn across my face. 

Uncle George then instructs me, "Go over to the spigot and fill these two pans with water," stuffing the them into my arms throwing me a step backwards.  The shear size of the pans is too much for my tiny arms.  I can barely wrap them around the pans to get sufficient grip thus forcing me to have to sprint across the yard to the tap.   I start the water when, almost on command, the chickens pop their inquisitive heads out of the coup in search of their beverage.  Just as I was moving the second pan into position for filling, they are all at the first pan drinking and nudging for a space.  I can hear my Uncle chuckling behind me.

Uncle George signals me back to the coup because it's time for the best part, the feeding.  My Uncle George reaches into the feed bins and proceeds to overflow both of the front pockets on my apron so that with each step I’m leaving behind a trail.

A large white and gray chicken sprouts up and twists its head toward me.  Speculatively the chicken moves closer and closer while I could do nothing but just stand there and wait with my hand out holding a pile of feed. My once enthusiasm for the feeding instantly turned to dread.  Was it gonna hurt? Was he gonna peck my hands off? Would all the chickens join in on the attack?   Now I start to feel the hot summer sun across my face. I take one last gasp and close my eyes just as the chicken gets close enough for me to smell its feathers and feel its breath on my hand. 

Nothing. 

Still nothing! 

Time must have frozen and the chicken has apparently still not gotten to me.  I slowly release the stranglehold I had on my eyelids and let my muscles slacken.  The feed was gone.  Wiped clean right off my hand.  

My uncle wraps his arm around me and jovially laughs, "See, you got nothing to worry about."