Cracklin’ Bread

The Hot Seat
From that time on, the ‘Phantom Coop Pooper’ found a more suitable place to ‘do his business’ and I still laugh every time I think about him and the dirty trick I did to him.
The Hot Seat
Nothing makes me madder than some bozo screwing with me or mine when I have done nothing to deserve it. This was the cased some time back when I was still growing poultry for Gold Kist and one of the catch crew decided my medicator buckets made a great potty. 
While the catch crew was maybe in house number one, the Phantom Pooper would be in house five relieving himself in my medicator bucket without a care in the world. 
Growing poultry used to work like this; after seven or eight weeks of 24-7 management, it is time for the poultry catchers to show up. 
These men rarely get any attention or praise and their job is as nasty a one as I have ever seen. 
The dust, smell, noise, and general organized confusion of the ‘catch’ is a thing of beauty. 
Especially to a grower because he knows a check is right behind the catchers. 
I assume the catchers are well paid but, as in any organization, it is always possible there is one malcontent who, in order to show disdain for his employer and his life in general, lashes out in whatever way he can to satisfy his call for revenge upon those he deems responsible for his lot in life.
Our catch crew had one of these miscreants among them (I dubbed him the ‘Phantom Coop Pooper) and I was fit to be tied. 
I must admit these tall six gallon buckets do make a convenient potty, but they are not supposed to be used in this particular way. 
I immediately told the crew boss and told him if he could not put a stop to it, then Bless God, I would. 
The ‘Phantom’ apparently did not like being told not to do something and continued to strike over the next several grow outs and I hit upon an idea. 
I gathered a gallon of habanero peppers and cooked them down to a mush and then strained the liquid and reduced it to just a miniscule amount of what looked to be pepper oil, HOT pepper oil. 
I laughed like a mad scientist as I added glycerin to thicken the concoction and pictured in my mind the end result to come. 
I hoped I would not be disappointed.
The grow out finally over, I could hardly wait as I dried each medicator bucket and since there were five of them and I did not know which one would be used, I applied hot pepper oil to the rim of each one, raised the water lines in advance of the catch crew, and, after apprising the crew boss to be on the lookout, went home to catch a nap while the catchers did their job.
Three hours later my phone rang and it was the crew boss. “You caught him, Boss Man.”
When I arrived, crew boss was hosing a naked man who was sobbing, “I’m burning up! I’m burning up!”
The “Phantom’ had rubbed his backside, then unknowingly spread the oil to his privates, then to his face. 
He was burning from top to bottom.
“I hope you did not get into the acid I clean the medicator buckets with. It’s liable to burn all the way to the bone,” I lied. 
“Take me to the hospital! Take me to the hospital,” the burning man cried.
“There’s no time for that! Here, wash with this soap and cloth and hurry before it burns that thing off.”
I was tickled to death and you talk about scrubbing, but he did. 
I thought he would scrub his hide off but it worked in alleviating enough of the burn that the Phantom Pooper thought he would live.
From that time on, the ‘Phantom Coop Pooper’ found a more suitable place to ‘do his business’ and I still laugh every time I think about him and the dirty trick I did to him.
Well, it wasn’t that dirty. 
I could have cut the rattles off a rattlesnake and put it in the bucket. 
That would have been dirty.
See page 4-A in the Wednesday, September 7, 2016 edition of The Douglas Enterprise.

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