The Rooster at my House

There is a rooster at my house.

It all began innocently enough. My daughter’s second grade class was hatching eggs for their science lesson. Pretty soon the teacher asked her students if they wanted to take the cute fluffy chicks home with them.

My daughter begged.” Just one . . . please. Then it was, “Just two . . . please.” Then, “Just three . . . please.” You get the picture.

I’ve done chickens before. I know that cute little fluffy chicks turn into large hens and roosters that need to be fed and given water every day. So I told my little girl that she could have the chickens if she agreed to take care of them.

She promised. So the brood came home. We set up a big box, warm light, water and feed. I barely turned around before those cute little fluffy yellow creatures were sprouting feathers and flying out of their box. So we moved them to the barn.

Before long my daughter grew weary of taking care of her new pets and my reminders were met with wines.

“I warned you,” I told her. “I told you that they would require daily care. I told you that pretty soon it would be winter and you wouldn’t want to go out to the barn in a blizzard to feed them.”

“You should have warned me harder,” my little girl answered.

So today we have a huge rooster who pretty much rules and roost around here. The problem is – this rooster is way sneaky. He acts nice while you’re facing him, but if you turn your back he takes off running after you at lightening speed. You can hear him coming up behind you - so you turn. At the exact moment you turn to face the approaching beast, he stops . . . acts innocent . . . and begins pecking at the ground like he wasn’t really running after you at all. Then, if you turn your back again, the whole scenario starts over again.

I don’t like having a pea-size brain rooster who is smarter than I am around here. He likes to crow and wake me up at obnoxious times. He waits until the garden tomatoes are red then gorges himself. He chases the grandkids. It’s time for him to go . . . but we can’t bring ourselves to get rid of him. He’s become one of the family.