CHICKEN NUGGETS WITH BARBECUE SAUCE

“YOU ATE MY BLUE RIBBON CHICKEN?!!!??!!!”(said/mentally screamed in a blood-curdling fashion).

My brother Paul “adopted” a young man who was homeless (long story, THIS story is about him and not about him).

I say “adopted” not in the same way as Paul and I do with our own, my buddy Shelton and Paul’s Zoo, mostly dogs (3), 2 baby goats, 1 baby pig, and an elephant here at HOPE RESCUE…..Just kidding about the elephant….

And four permanent residents, his dogs, Max, Bella and Johnny Boy, and Shelton, and currently, one temporary “dog” guest that Paul has temporarily adopted till Paul finds someone to permanently adopt him.

I had seen Ton Ton’s desperate plea for help pop up in my Facebook feed about six months ago and at that time, I just tagged Paul. Maybe we spoke about it once. Compassion without the means to help sucks big time for me

And then about a month or so ago, Paul brings not just a dude home, but also his 19 children, plus his doggie Ginger, his best lady friend in the world.

“Children” Whoops! I meant 19 chickens? No. I meant “children”. Paul adopted a human, AND, his 19 absolutely beautiful children who happen to be exotic chickens (and Ginger) (see pics). It’s hard living on food stamps, and feeding 19 chickens.

These are not your typical white chickens everyone is familiar with, these are the kinds of breeds that you still see winning Blue, Red and Gold Ribbons at State Fairs all over the country in August to early September. Well, at least at the State Fairs in all the mid-western farming states. Google 4H Club

These ARE Ton Ton’s babies. Blue eggs, purple eggs, pink eggs, and occasionally, a “Golden” egg. One that has a slight yellowish-golden tint to the shell.

I haven’t eaten eggs THIS good since Joe and his wife gave us a dozen and an 18-pack of their chicken’s eggs, and when I was nine when my mother decided to try becoming a chicken rancher/farmer/entrepreneur and purchased 300 still yellow-feathered (white) chickens out of the “Monkey Wards” catalog which was what I first called that fascinating book when I was three.

I especially liked the women’s lingerie section at three-years-old. I had no gender identification issues going on, and my mommy did not dress me up like a little girl (doll). Yes. I blame the parents, not the child. I digress.

Montgomery Wards delivered the 300 chickens to our farm and the rest can be found in many other long stories which can be found on my website at www.tcsblog.net

Back to the chickens. We were city folk renting an old farm for $60 per month. My friend Oscar is a REAL farmer’s kid and they are dairy farmers. One farmer, Oscar’s father as a passionate hobby, raises prize-winning rare breeds that you don’t raise for future children/mick-nuggets Whoops! I meant CHICKEN MCNUGGETS.

Ton Ton’s chickens are some of the breeds I saw growing up going to the Anoka County Fair and the Minnesota State Fair.

Full-circle back to 6:00 this morning. Shelton is trying to start a community doggie revolt club the way he’s barking at the neighbor’s seven dogs?

Shelton is a dog. Dogs have “Dog Language”. I only quiet Shelton, sometimes even by putting him back in the house, if I think Spring and her son T are still sleeping.

I could give a fling flang flying fuck or an oooo-eee-II-ahah, what ANYONE else thinks about Shelton barking because WE ALL HAVE DOGS, BARKING! Everyone living here in this town has dogs!

As I sat there contemplating and telling Paul, that I still feel optimistic in SPITE of what appears to be looming iceberg meet Titanic kind of future for all of us here at Hope Rescue. The word “Hope” is a name. It was Paul’s mother’s name. HOPE RESCUE…..I digress.

So, Paul has gone back to his Casa, Shelton is carrying on a conversation with Joe’s Pit Bull and three or four German Shepherds, and I’m sitting there admiring the “Blue Ribbon” chickens in the two “Time Out” cages. One Austrian Rowdy. His feathers an amazingly beautiful mixture of dark mahogany and reddish-brown colors.

I said, “YOU ATE MY BLUE RIBBON CHICKEN!!!”. I first had a vision of Ton Ton screaming that at Paul.

That’s ridiculous even in thought. Ton Ton’s two chickens here in temporary protective isolation inspired me.

No. Nobody is going to accidentally “eat” these two beautiful children…….and then I uttered the words but mentally screamed, “YOU ATE MY BLUE RIBBON CHICKEN?!!!??!!!?

I was inspired by my friend Ton Ton’s chickens who were next to the poop-grass for the shade the afternoon before.

I was transported back to 1957. My friend Oscar was sharing the horrific story about how his Uncle Ivar from the city was babysitting him and his parents farm for a week because they went on their first Caribbean Cruise, Uncle Ivar took a hatchet and cut the head off a $20,000 chicken in current value today.

Of course he knew how to do the hot water soak and feather pluck routine. He knew how to use the oven. “Uncle Ivar offered me some of his oven-baked, old family recipe, chicken. I threw up my lunch all over the floor and Uncle Ivar’s pants and ran outside”.

I said, “HOLY FUCK! What happened when your parents got home from vacation?”

Oscar stated that famous phrase that was heard throughout Anoka County and later mimicked, because EVERYONE knew how famous Lars Gulbransen’s chickens were, let alone the fact that all four of the Gulbransen brothers owned the largest privately owned dairy co-op in  all of Minnesota. Largest supplier of raw milk in the state.

Lars Gulbransen my friend Oscar’s father, was the oldest of the four, and apparently the idea of raising rare chickens seemed like a better use of his time than golf or tennis like his brothers were in to.

Now I’m getting anxious as Oscar is telling me the story. “So tell me the punch-line dude. What happened to Uncle Ivar?

Note: Although Oscar called him Uncle Ivar, he is Oscar’s Great-Uncle ivar. His father’s uncle and sole remaining icon of the Loki Gulbransen Clan from Norway (1823) came to Minnesota.

Picture Vikings with cows. Imagine that. Those tough dudes drank milk? They could slice you up quick, and savagely so with their swords and leave you on the ground to rot.

Now, me being Italian and family-connected, what a Viking could do to a person compared to the Mafia dudes? No comparison not even close. Hands down, the Italians and everyone one else like the Russian Mob, are scared shitless of the average Viking today. Gee! great idea for an action-hero screenplay. A Norwegian dude played by my all-time favorite action hero Bruce Snorgledorfer, hahahahaha, no, Jason Statham, saving children from an international, multi-national child-trafficking ring. I’ll work on this idea later. Has to be the best line in my movie when Jason says to the Chairman of the largest agricultural, food growing, and food-processing plants in the world. Think DOLE.

“Did he bury your Uncle Ivar out behind the barn”? I said.

Oscar responded “No, I’m getting to it, pass the bong”.

Uncle Ivar, Great/Uncle Ivar to nine-year-old Oscar, lived in a 12,000 square foot mansion on Lake Minnetonka, the most expensive zip code of all time in Minnesota then, and still today. Ivar Gulbransen enjoys the fruits of his family’s success.

HA HA! Got you all! You all thought this would be a sickening story of an wealthy old dude satanically sacrificing a $20,000 chicken and scaring the shit out of my friend Oscar! Even the truly successful farmers wealthy enough to have their own private airport are born, live, and die in the same 125-year-old farmhouse they gre up in. Ivar IS based on a real person, and the Gulbransen Clan is real. I just used that last name because instead of “Saxe” my last name is Gulbransen. Long story, search for it on my website. Oscar is based on a real friend who was a month younger than me. “Uncle Ivar DID watch me while mom and dad went on that cruise” Oscar said. “He did NOT, chop the head off a $25,000 rooster.

Oscar continued, “Uncle Ivar and I concocted a practical joke on my parents. As soon as they walked through the kitchen entrance, dad screamed, “What the fuck went on here” when he saw the floor covered in what one chicken would leave behind as a trail if it was flying around the kitchen loose avoiding it’s capture”. Uncle Ivar calmly explained in true Viking spirit , “There’s a time for peace, a time for war, and a time to make some fucking fried chicken”.

I kept up the charade and said as I was pretending to rub the tears away, “Uncle Ivar just started acting all weird and shit like he’s off his meds (don’t use that kind of language young man) weird and STUFF, and he chopped off Odin’s head. He offered me some oven-roasted chicken with garlic, and herbs and I upchucked my lunch all over him”.

Here it comes! My father said those famously funny words that everyone now repeats if they are comically upset at someone, “YOU ATE MY BLUE RIBBON CHICKEN!!!”

Exotic chicken feathers on kitchen floor courtesy of years of raising, breeding, and loving your hobby.

Full circle back to Ton Ton’s children. I have a much deeper appreciation for him and his hobby than the average person, “I’ve had purple eggs before Ton Ton” as I remind him that I grew up on a farm, yet I still want him to extol about his hobby, which is, exotic chickens. After all, how many people do YOU know that raise exotic chickens? Okay, I do have a concern that Ton Ton has told me the he’s a Vegan, two weeks after he used my microwave to heat up his barbecue-flavored chicken wings. Hahahahahahhahaha! I’m trying to help Ton Ton like he was my grandson. We’re ALL crazy in some way or another. 100% of the human race has SOME kind of abnormal psychosis going on. I’m no different. I’m just od enough to have studied human nature enough, to recognize it, and have a compassionate understanding of it. And they call ME, a crazy old man.

We may, or may not have to leave this property because someone has turned us in as operating a “Trailer Park” without the proper license and zoning. May not because the county gal that Paul spoke to in person was 100% on the side of HOPE RESCUE. She did everything in her power to try to help Paul figure a way out of this mess we’re in. My optimism tells me that the people responsible for serving Paul hold off as long as they can, after THEY find out what this is all about. A grieving couple with PTSD whose son came home in a black rubber bag from Afghanistan. I’m still trying to figure out how to help Joe and his wife get treatment. So, THIS post, I’m asking al my faithful friends that come to my website on a daily basis to contribute ANYTHING you can to saving HOPE RESCUE, two dudes living on Social Security, our families,  and Ton Ton and his children. My PayPal link is further down this page. Thank you!

This essay was brought to you by those wonderfully visionaries at IRTHKOIN. The Evolutionary Crypto-Currency coming soon to your laptop, computer, and cellphone, stay tuned for news.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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