Monday, September 27, 2010

Ain't No Fightin' Rooster! ...


One of life's simplest pleasures for Uncle Virgil Hunnicutt was eating fresh, farm eggs for breakfast each morning, preferably fresh, brown, farm eggs ... he usually had at least two of the scrumptious things fried "sunny side up" along with a glassful of fresh squeezed orange juice, sausage, ham or bacon, gravy, grits or hash browns, toast or biscuits with butter and jam, and at least two cupfuls of hot, black coffee--but most of all he loved to eat those eggs ... as Virgil got older, and older and eventually even older, it became quite evident that it was just too much of a chore for the ravenous, nearly deaf and blind centenarian to walk all the way into town each morning just to have breakfast at the Corner Cafe, especially in bad weather ... so Uncle Virgil decided to acquire a few prime laying hens and an adequate rooster from Grandpa DooLittle, then keep the prized flock in an old shed located right behind his house which he had converted into a makeshift chicken coop ... that way he could have fresh eggs "on demand" right outside his door anytime he got a hankerin' ... besides, Virgil was a danged good cook, and didn't at all mind preparing his own food, which he by far preferred over the fare offered at the diner ... so Uncle Virgil got about half a dozen or so of the finest Rhode Island Red laying hens along with an energetic, brightly colored, black and auburn Welsummer rooster ... and forthwith began gathering fresh, brown eggs at home every morning.

Now this particular rooster didn't resemble most other run-of-the-mill, henhouse roosters around those parts, daily strutting around the yard like he owned the place ... this rooster was leaner, meaner and more athletically put together, like one of those fightin' roosters sporting an extremely proud and aggressive demeanor, yet Grandpa DooLittle had assured Uncle Virgil of the fact that "he sure ain't no fightin' rooster" ... but no mortal human being other than Uncle Virgil could get anywhere within forty feet of this pugnacious bird without chancing an immediate, wanton and severe flogging, it's razor-sharp spurs capable of slicing one to the bone, and Virgil would often feed the obstreperous fowl cracked corn right out of his bare hand treating it as if it were a pet ... unfortunately word spread about the dangerous critter that Uncle Virgil Hunnicutt had been keeping in his backyard.

So when Uncle Virgil summoned Lester DooLittle to come over and build a modern and proper hencoop--his request was met with more than a bit of trepidation on Lester's part--"ain't no way I'm a comin' over there with that there killer beast a runnin' loose!" he adamantly declared ... well Virgil assured Lester that he would straightaway put the rooster in a secure location so he could safely come over and begin construction ... confident that Uncle Virgil would do exactly as he had said, Lester gathered his carpenterin' tools and headed over to Virgil's place ... in the meantime Uncle Virgil had chased that rooster all around the yard trying to catch him, but couldn't even get within arm's reach of the agile, quick-witted cackler ... so when it finally ran through the open door of an abandoned panel truck hidden behind some bushes near the fence, Virgil quickly slammed that door shut thus entrapping the speedy and elusive bird inside, at least Lester DooLittle should now remain unscathed when he entered the property ... no sooner had Virgil walked out of sight than Lester pulled up in front of the gate ... the wide-eyed boy slowly slid out of the still running truck and began nervously looking all around for any sign of Virgil's rooster ... seeing no rooster and satisfied that he was in no eminent danger, Lester shut off the truck's engine, grabbed his tool belt, entered the gate and began gingerly walking toward Uncle Virgil who was now standing near the spot where he wanted the new henhouse to be  built ... Lester had made it about half way between the front gate and Virgil's front porch when he heard the loudest, most frightening and furiously angry sound seemingly right next to him that he had ever heard in his entire wretched life sending icy shivers straight up his back "kukukukukukuk cock-a-doodle-doo! ... kukukukukukukuk cock-a-doodle-dooooooooooo!!" ... Lester was certain that ol' rooster was comin' for him and frantically cried out "you was supposed to put that rooster someplace where it couldn't hurt nobody old man!" ... Lester DooLittle was so scared he didn't know whether to run like a scalded jackrabbit or just fall over stone-cold dead right there on the spot, but his feet had already made the executive decision to run to the nearest haven of safety--that junked panel truck sitting right there smack dab in the middle of those bushes ... as Lester jerked open the door, dived into the back of that rusty junker and slammed the door shut behind him, amidst his own screams of agony he thought he could hear Uncle Virgil Hunnicutt's reply "I did put him where he couldn't get to you Lester ... he's inside that old panel truck there in the bushes!"

Notice: No poultry of any sort were harmed during the writing of this story ... can't say the same for Lester DooLittle!


--sja
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10 comments:

sja said...

This post is a variation of a story told long ago by a late, great storyteller by the name of Jerry Clower ... I don't think he would mind!

PJ said...

Hey SJA! My Hubby loves Jerry Clower! Wanna hear something funny? I just told a story about a rooster and my childhood last night as a comment on someone's blog! When I was a very small child, 2 or 3 years old, my parents bought each of us three girls one of those dyed Easter chicks. Well, mine died the first day I had it cause I decided it needed a necklace so I wrapped bubble gum around it's neck. My middle sister's died shortly there after cause my dad decided it needed to stay warm, so he put it in a pan on top of our wall radiator. The only one to grow full term was my oldest sister's, and guess what it grew up to be? The meanest banny rooster I have ever encountered. He used to get me down in the back yard and peck the daylights out of me! Momma got to where she had to hold me or leave me in the house when she hung clothes on the line. I definitely sympathize with Lester Doolittle!

God Bless!
PJ

sja said...

PJ, you wouldn't believe the number of stories I've heard about mean roosters ... we had one, and I can remember when I was about 4 years of age my having to look up at him as he strutted by!

By the way, I posted an answer to your comment/question in "Men Working Ahead" ...

AirForceWife1978 said...

I absolutely love your blog! You are following me on Blog Frog! I am in turn following you back and am also following you on your blog her via GFC and Networked Blogs. Can you follow me back?
http://airforcewifeandmommytwo.blogspot.com/

ranndomized said...

LMAO! Love this! I'll be checking in regularly for updates :)

Visiting from SITS!

sja said...

AirForceWife1978 -- I'm glad you like the blog ... thank you for stopping by, for the comment and for the follows ... I just visited your blog and I'm following you on all venues ...

sja said...

Ranndomized, glad you enjoy the blog too, thank you ... stop by often ... I'm working on a brand new post right now!

BOB said...

This somehow seems inadequate ... though perhaps appropriate ... if we catch the blighter, lets pour syrup on his wings.

"The American Constitution is remarkable for its simplicity; but it can only suffice a people habitually correct in their actions, and would be utterly inadequate to the wants of a different nation. Change the domestic habits of the Americans, their religious devotion, and their high respect for morality, and it will not be necessary to change a single letter in the Constitution in order to vary the whole form of their government."

sja said...

Unfortunately Bob that change appears to be going in the wrong direction!

Just this... Alice said...

I was wandering this morning when I would get another post from you. I absolutely love your blog as it reminds me so much of how I grew up on our farm back in the 50's and 60's. My parents hadn't made it into the new age yet. We plowed with a mule, grew what we ate, and butchered our own animals for the meat. It fills me with joy to read your blog and definately makes my day a whole lot better afterwards. So to you SJA I say a blog well done. Just wish I could do better with mine. Please keep your stories comming and maybe one day I will tell you about our own spurring rooster that made it into the cooking pot. Thanks so much for giving me a lift in spirit today.