A Dadism: The Chicken Plucker

Driving back to my sister's house one day, my sister began talking about dinner.

My dad asked her if he could do anything to help and she jokingly replied that he could pluck the chicken.

My father said that he was not the chicken-plucker or the chicken-plucker's son, but he could pluck the chicken till the chicken-plucker comes.

Later that day, Sue and I took her very elderly dog, Nook, out for a walk. In recent weeks, Nook had started squatting on the pavement and letting loose, no longer waiting to eliminate on the lawn or grass areas. A simple plastic bag no longer sufficed, since the dog "went" about a dozen times during the walk. So, I had to follow along behind Sue and Nook, holding a shovel, which I put on my shoulder like a rifle.

Dad came out of the house and and asked me what in the world I was doing.

I told him that I wasn't the sh*t shoveler or the sh*t shoveler's son, but I could shovel sh*t till the sh*t shoveler comes.


;-)K