Newport Independent - Newport, AR
A lighter look at life in the slow lane.
I met some Baptist chickens. Or maybe Methodists
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By Leslie Fite
Leslie Rose Fite is a native of south Arkansas and grew up with a family filled with dysfunction and laughter.
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July 16, 2012 12:01 a.m.

A couple of months ago I had the best day at work I've ever had to this point. I got to help unload about 40,000 baby chicks - less than 24 hours old.
It was so much fun and I learned so much. While waiting for the truck to set up at one of the houses, some of the guys who work everyday in the farms were standing around filling me with facts about chicken production.
Now, these are great guys, but they tend to test the bounds of my gullibility, so I'm always on guard that I don't buy something I should have known better. At one point one of them tells me that production (the number of eggs) drops on Sunday.
"No it doesn't," I say. I may be silly but even I know that chickens don't know what day of the week it is.
"No, it really does," he tells me. Again I argue, and laugh that he thinks he'll get me on this one. "Yeah, because they go to church," he explains.
"The chickens do not go to church!"
Obviously he thinks I'm a little nuts to buy this.
He starts laughing. "Of course the chickens don't go to church - the people gathering the eggs do." He is now laughing at me so hard that he is completely red. Okay, I guess I should have fallen for this one! "Still, I wonder what denomination the chickens would be if they did go to church..." he said.

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