A Cluck A Day Keeps The Doctor Away

Bob’s criteria for picking hens had nothing to do with eggs.

- Patricia Iles

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!