rising fowl.

Rooster-Eye_photo-by-Cecil-Williams

We must be out of propane.

Dangit.

We just refilled the tank a couple of months ago….has it been that cold?

Is a line frozen or something? What is wrong with the propane?

Oh, well…that’s what a woodstove is for.

I wrote about a rooster that we have who I was sure was dead.

I was sure that he’d been eaten by a fat raccoon that I’d noticed was stalking him.

When I didn’t see him or hear him crowing, I was sure that he’d “bought the farm”.

(I wish we had a rooster who could “buy the farm”…I’d move in with him if that were possible.)

I write my blog early in the morning…and when I got home that evening, Jenny said, “That rooster is alive.”

I’d missed the resurrection. I was too busy driving the mail around to see it.

Apparently, Jenny was sitting with the little kids when she saw something flash by in her peripheral vision.

Then she saw something bigger flash by a couple of steps behind the first flash.

When she looked more closely, she realized that the first flash was the rooster…and the second flash was our neighbor’s young hunting dog following in extremely close pursuit.

It was so close that the rooster was in the dog’s mouth.

It was that close.

“In the mouth” is pretty closely pursued.

It was early in the morning, it was 10° outside with a pretty extreme windchill,  and Jenny was still in her nightgown, but she knew that she had to do something quick if that rooster was going to continue to live.

The rumors of his demise were already greatly exaggerated once that morning.

So she did the only thing she could think of to do.

She went out and grabbed the neighbors dog and brought him inside with the little kids.

The dog was very excited to see our small children.

Nate was not excited to have this strange big puppy jumping up on him.

Sparrow was keying off Nate.

Jenny was in her nightgown.

It was exciting.

When my older son, Isaac, went to check on the rooster, the rooster was bleeding pretty badly.

He was missing most of his elaborate tail feathers.

He was pretty alive, though.

Our neighbor came over from her house across the field (she knew what was possibly happening when Rhett, the dog, broke loose and ran across the road to do what bird dogs do) and said, “I AM SO SORRY!!! WE’LL PAY FOR HIM!! I AM SO SORRY!!!”

Jenny said, “Oh, no…we tried to give those roosters away (when we had three roosters…before the other two died) on Craigslist and no one wanted them. The only reason this one is still here is because he’s the last survivor so he stays around.”

Dangit.

That “prizewinning purebred rooster” could have been our ticket to the good life…or at least a hamburger if it was on sale.

Nahhhhh….I’m only keeeeeding.  I wouldn’t do that to Tammy…those guys are nice neighbors.

And, you know, I really like that hyper spaniel, too.  He’s pretty cool…pretty wild…pretty funny.

But Nate didn’t like him.

He pushed Nate farther into the “I want a little dog” territory when he jumped up and knocked him over.

I don’t want a little lap-dog.  I want a “man dog”. I want a big dog.

Darn that rooster…HE SPOILS EVERYTHING!!!!

And to top it off, I just heard him crow…and it’s not even light outside yet.

Stupid rooster….stay in the mouth next time

Rooster eye, photo by Cecil Williams cecilw.com

 

About Peter Rorvig

I'm a non-practicing artist, a mailman, a husband, a father...not listed in order of importance. I believe that things can always get better....and that things are usually better than we think.

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