I grew up in a small NL outport called Dennis's Cove. There were no pubs nearby for men to gather to have a drink and share stories, so some men brewed their own beer. My dad did, and he kept it in a barrel behind the stove. One afternoon, when I was between five and six years old, Mom and her friend left us kids with Dad and our neighbour and their child. The women went off for the long walk to another settlement. Dad and our neighbour thought it was a good time to put on a new brew, as they were getting low. First they poured themselves what was left in the barrel, then dumped the remainder, which was mostly grouts, outside by the doorstep. While the kids played outside, they enjoyed the last of the beer as they cleaned out the barrel and put on a fresh brew. Our hens were roaming around outside the house, pecking at the ground like they do. Later in the afternoon, we noticed the hens acting kind of strange, clucking loudly and stumbling about. The door to the house was open and a couple of hens got inside. One flew up on top of the stove. There wasn't any fire in, as it was a warm day, and the hen laid an egg right there on the stove! Then a second hen flew atop the wood box and laid an egg there. What the men came to realize is that the hens must have been pecking at the beer grouts they'd thrown outside and they'd become intoxicated! When the women returned, they found the kids were hungry for supper, hens had made a mess in the kitchen, and the men were having a great laugh at it all. Not likely that they were left in charge again anytime soon! - Norma Noel Bridgeport, NL