Good morning readers. I’m obliged you made a swing by here. I’m going to do my best to give you something to have read by the time you leave if the Coincidence Coordinators and the commie phone line will sit still for it.
I’ve about decided I’m going to have peace and harmony around here, and I don’t care who I have to kill to do it. The roosters are driving me nuts with their sneaky non-harmonizing ways.
The Great Speckled Bird surprised me by surviving the winter, feeling better most ways than he has in a longish time. But more crippled up than ever. Not much use of the one leg anymore, one wing weak or useless. So when he falls, the usual ritual is to lie on his back waving his legs around. Struggling for a shift in reality to get into a position where the one foot can get a hold on something.
But even so, he’s out there ranging with the hens, doing what roosters are supposed to do as often as he can see his way clear to do it and he can find a willing hen.
But meanwhile I keep my bachelor roosters penned most of the day. Mainly because they’re of a mind that if I’m not looking it’s okay to open up a can of whoopass on TGSB. They can knock him down and peck the bejesus out of him in less time than it takes to tell it.
But I’ve digressed. I was going to tell you about dancing with roosters, which is the only way a person can establish harmonious society with them. A rooster isn’t long on understanding the ways of a human being, but he does understand who’s the cock of the walk. And if he doesn’t understand, or he forgets, he’s forever trying to reassure himself about whether he’s boss, or someone else is.
A rooster has two main dances. One he does for the hens, which I’ll describe some other time, though it’s important to know how to do it so’s to keep him and the hens on their toes. But the one used to communicate “I’m a contender,” and “You want some of this? Come get it!” is an absolute necessity.
The last couple of days when the bachelor roosters and TGSB were out concurrently I’ve had to do a lot of dancing around stiff-legged, acting like I was pecking the ground watching them out of the corner of my eye and flapping my arms threateningly. Reminding them if they want to mess with TGSB they’ve got to go through the bull-goose-looney to get there.
I think where I slipped up was when the warm weather started I quit wearing my red stocking cap they considered a comb, and forgot I’m a rooster too. Got thinking they could each be a contender.