In Saturday's box of chocolates, life gave me a rooster. I didn't ask for a rooster. I didn't want a rooster. But Hick brought one home.
"Look what I traded for today im bringing him home"
In typical Hick fashion, the story changed by the time he got home. I never found out what he traded, because the tale changed to the rooster being FREE.
"Last weekend, a guy was down at the flea market with a rooster he was trying to get rid of. I told him the lady who lives next to the flea market has chickens. That he could just let it go. So he did. The lady with the chickens didn't want him--"
"I guess not! I'm sure she has her own rooster!"
"Anyway, she kept runnin' him off. So he came back to the flea market, and was hanging out there all week."
"He's probably starving!"
"No. He was free-rangin'. But today, Old Buddy was feeding him potato chips. I figured I'd just bring the poor guy home with me."
"How is THAT going to work? The dogs or something wild will kill him!"
"I thought they'd just sniff at him. But they chased him all around the yard! It took me about an hour to catch him! He's over in the old chicken pen now."
"He'll fly out!"
"No. He's had his wings clipped. I didn't know that, until he tried to fly and get away from the dogs."
"Oh, no! He can't even roost in a tree! Something's going to eat him for sure!"
"You don't know that."
"What do you plan to feed him?"
"He's free-rangin' for now. Down in the back of the old goat pen."
"I feel really bad for him. There's no way for him to survive here! He was probably better off at the flea market! Somebody might have picked him up and taken him home for a pet."
"Or he mighta got in the road and got run over. That won't happen here."
I don't know. I hope this rooster can survive. The odds are not good. We used to have 33 chickens. Before the neighbor's dogs found out. I'm sure those dogs are gone now. But our dogs haven't been raised with chickens. They'll let the squirrels run rampant, and the birds eat out of their food pan. But this rooster is a new challenge.
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On Sunday morning, Hick went over to the pen to look for the rooster.
"I don't see him. He might be down in the woods."
"Or EATEN! By something else in the woods. Can he get in the chicken house?"
"Yeah. He can get in there. But he ain't there."
Sunday evening, Hick walked over to look for the rooster again. Nothing.
"I don't know where he is. He can get out, over behind the BARn. Jack could probably get in under the fence there, but I don't think Pepper knows about it. Maybe he's just living down in the woods to avoid the dogs, since he knows they'll go after him."
Well. Hick IS an optimist...
Five minutes later, Hick was in his recliner, watching TV. I was at the kitchen table innernetting. I heard the dogs barking in the front yard. Kind of frantic, not in their usual play mode. Then they came around to the back porch, tussling and worrying each other and yipping, as they are wont to do.
"I think that might be him in the front yard! I just saw something run across!"
Hick got up and looked out the door. Yes. It was his rooster. Maybe the dogs are not out to kill, just have a little fun with him, since they gave up and came back on the porch. I suppose the rooster heard Hick over there looking around for him, and came back to where Hick let him loose when they got home.
I hope this rooster can survive. He might even get a name.
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