I killed a poor
old sick cat for Mrs. Windham the other day. We put half a teaspoonful
of pure cyanide of potassium in a long-handled wooden spoon, and dropped
it on the cat's tongue, as near the throat as we could. Poor pussy--she
died in a few seconds. Do you know, I was reading such a funny thing the
other day about giving cats medicine. They hate it, and one can scarcely
force it into their mouths on account of their sharp teeth. The way is,
to smear it on their sides, and they lick it off. A good idea, isn't it?
Here we are at the hen house, or rather one of the hen houses."
"Don't you keep your hens all together?" asked Miss Laura.
"Only in the winter time," said Mrs. Wood. "I divide my flock in the
spring. Part of them stay here and part go to the orchard to live in
little movable houses that we put about in different places. I feed each
flock morning and evening at their own little house. They know they'll
get no food even if they come to my house, so they stay at home. And
they know they'll get no food between times, so all day long they pick
and scratch in the orchard, and destroy so many bugs and insects that it
more than pays for the trouble of keeping them there.
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