Farm Friday - Rooster For Sale. Cheap.
By Anne Kimball on November 04, 2011
Farm Friday - Rooster for Sale. Cheap.
I swear, Big Daddy's days are numbered. The only way I can keep from slaughtering him would be to sell him down the river, which I'm considering very seriously.
I never wanted a rooster.
I never ordered a rooster.
I do not enjoy owning a rooster.
Oh, sure, her provides country ambience, and he's pretty to look at, but those are his only contributions and they do not tip the scales in his favor. Not one bit.
Couple days ago Rosie refilled the chicken waterer and took it to the barn to put in the Hen House. It has to be carried in two pieces, top and bottom, b/c if you put the top on and carry it by the handle, it could break. Don't look at me, I didn't design the thing. In addition to that, she was also carrying the egg basket
She has three arms. It really comes in handy sometimes.
filled with old cereal and yucky apples to give to my sweet chickadees. But since she doesn't have a fourth arm, she was unable to take the Rooster Tool into the Hen House with her. "Rooster Tool" being an old dustmop that we use to keep BD at bay. So, talented child that she is, she managed to open the gate and step into the HenHouse with both pieces of the waterer as well as the egg basket, hoping BD would maybe, please God, behave himself for once.
Uh, no. That cantankerous roo started flying at Rosie, claws outstretched, beak agape, and squawking like a demon possessed by Lucifer himself. She kicked her foot out in self defense, but her slipper flew off her foot. Yes, she wore slippers into the barn. Not the brightest move, but she does have three arms, so we keep her around. The slipper failed to connect with Big Daddy in any meaningful way, so he came at her again. This time, with one slipper on and one bare foot, she swung the top of the waterer at him, but he was unimpressed and undeterred. He wanted children for breakfast. He could taste it and Rosie could see it clearly in the evil eye he had turned towards her. Finally, in a flash of brilliance, or at least good old-fashioned common sense, she put everything down and retreated. She unhooked the Rooster Tool from its nail and re-entered the pen. Now she was the demon possessed as she flailed and screamed and swung the repurposed dust mop around her like a Ninja with nunchucks. He backed off. He's crazy, not stupid.
So Rosie put the waterer together and put it back in its place.
She fed the chooks the scraps and gathered the eggs.
She collected her slipper, shook the shavings off of it, and replaced it on her foot.
She gave Big Daddy one last menacing look. They stared at each other for a few heavy moments, each vowing silently that the other would, one day, get his.
And she returned to the house. A little dissheveled, a little menace in her eyes, but none the worse for wear.
They will meet again.
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