I raised 'em.

I paid twenty cents a setting for the eggs out of my own money, and when you raise a thing you generally like it the best.

Ducks are a heap smarter'n chickens, anyway," she asserted.

"I never can get one of the chickens to feed out of a spoon, and the ducks like it the best kind." To convince him she held toward them a large baking spoon of soured milk.
This milk was thickened into a paste or ball by being put on the stove and separated from the whey, or watery part, by the action of the heat.
It was a favorite dish with the fowls, and they all smacked their lips when they saw it coming.
As fast as Betty could fill the spoon it was emptied by the ducks, who stuck their big yellow bills into it and devoured the contents, letting the chickens below scramble and push and pick each other for any stray bits that fell to the ground.
"Didn't I tell you ?" said Betty triumphantly.

"Them chickens had just as good a chance as the ducks, but they wouldn't take it." "Huh!" answered Joe.