Bob’s criteria for picking hens had nothing to do with eggs.
Every time Bob stopped in my office, he’d complain about something. A gifted and articulate grumbler, he never had a good word to say or a smile on his face.
Bob was an old New Mexico rancher who was clearly unhappy to be living in town. And while he was hardly cheerful when I first met him, his mood darkened as the months went by. I dreaded his visits.
Late one spring, my family had more chickens than we needed. So I hung a sign in the office that read, “Laying Hens for Sale.” And who do you suppose was my buyer? It was Bob!
This story is from the February/March 2017 edition of Country.
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This story is from the February/March 2017 edition of Country.
Start your 7-day Magzter GOLD free trial to access thousands of curated premium stories, and 9,000+ magazines and newspapers.
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