Rah, Rah, Ree, Kick 'em in the Rooster

Grandpa's farm is on the way to the state university we visited with Fash over the weekend. I say "farm", because it is the house he was born in and the property he grew up on, which used to be a thriving farm. He doesn't live there now, but enjoys using the place as a retreat. He spends as much time as he can puttering around the old farm, driving his tractor and fixing stuff. The boys in the family and Fash use the property for hunting, so it is a busy place in the fall. We decided to stop in and visit with Grandpa one night before heading to the university.


Farm animals have been a thing of the past, up until a short time ago when a guy dropped off some geese and chickens that Grandpa agreed to house. It didn't take long for the raccoons to discover the tasty take- out treats, so the owner of the fowl came and gathered up what was left of the gaggle and took them back to someplace. I have not been to the farm in a long time and so missed the entire short-lived era of feathered friends at the farm. For some reason, one lone rooster remains. They call him Houdini, because one time the neighbors dog clenched his teeth onto this fella, thrashed him around from side to side, then left him for dead in a field of tall grass. Several minutes later, with Grandpa preparing the soup pot, the rooster, rather worse for wear, stumbled out of the tall grass weaving to the left, then right, and made his way back to the house- several feathers lighter, but very much alive.


Friday night we pulled into the driveway just off to the side and under this post that will someday hold up a roof over the new back porch. I started to get out of the car, but got this heavy hovering feeling like somebody was looking down on me. I cried out loud when I looked up and saw this, "turkey!" But it wasn't a turkey. It was Houdini. We had awakened him from his nightly perch on the porch, just outside the back door. He was not pleased.



Having met Houdini before, I.T. knew to be cautious. He made a wide circle around the rooster when he took the first load of bedding and overnight bags into the house. Fash and I did not make a move. Houdini was clucking deep guttural noises, rocking back and forth on the plant holder roost and puffing his feathers, so they stood on end, not unlike a mad dog. We were sure he was going to swoop. Grandpa came to the door to assure us it'd be okay to get out of the car. But we waited until I.T. got a stick to shelter us from the imminent dive bomb, then we circled as far around the post as possible and dashed quickly inside the door.


Grandpa said, "you just have to show him who's boss" and the like, but I remained reserved.



In the morning, I heard a gargantuan flock of birds cawing outside in the trees, so I grabbed my camera and headed for the door to get a picture of what promised to be a scene from the old Alfred Hitchcock movie. Just as I was about to swing the door open, I froze. Houdini was standing guard. He absolutely would not let me onto the porch. I.T. got the stick and went to shoo him away. Not even a few apples to the head could deter this bird. I didn't go out there.

We packed up and got ready to leave. I was dressed up in nice slacks and a blouse with a little decorative scarf (don't ask me why I wasn't wearing jeans and a sweatshirt, we were heading to a university- I guess I was trying to play the impressive mom type or something) and with my purse in hand I mustered up some confidence, decided to take Grandpa's advice and ignore Houdini, who was right there waiting, and went out to the car. I got my nice shoes out of the trunk and was slightly bent over trying to switch out of my sandals without getting my socks in the mud when Houdini launched from the ground into the air and flew at me feet first.


I SCREAMED bloody murder, did a complete unplanned whirl around wind-up, then whipped my purse at him when I heard Fashionista on the sidelines cheering for the underdog, "go MOM, hit him with your purse!" Up he flew a second time, sharp, three- inch talons aimed and fast forwarding toward my waist. I dodged again, SCREAMING and jumping around in the mud with one sandal and one nice shoe, until I finally bolted up the porch steps and into the bathroom. He'd scared the pee out of me.


I believe this is when I.T. came running to my aid. I don't know for sure, as I was locked in the bathroom. If it weren't for the fact that Grandpa and the rooster are such good friends, I'm sure I.T. would have wrung the rooster's speckled, little neck.
My nerves were shattered for most of the ride to the university. I kept reliving the assault of the rooster in my mind. It is too soon to tell, perhaps, to what extent this has affected me. Will I forevermore categorize the events of my life as: those that happened before the attack and those that came after? Before the rooster attack I believed that all roosters are basically good. After the rooster attack, I now know that all roosters are born with a sinful nature and some choose the way of the devil!