Rooster helps open path to miraculous day

The rooster crows outside my kitchen door. Not once, but several times. Wait a minute! It’s 7:30 in the morning. He’s supposed to be up the hill in the shed converted into a chicken coop. What happened?

You forgot to lock the trap door, Michael J. Forgot to close it. Or simply forgot to round-up the four feathered critters and herd them into their warm wooden environment. That could mean they spent the night outdoors.

No. Not even the Sombitch Rooster would be that dumb with the trap door open. They spent the night indoors with the side door hoisted open slightly, and came out at the light of day. Yeah, that’s it. Must have seen me when I opened the screen door of the kitchen below to let out the cat, Sundance. No wonder the cat froze in her tracks this morning. Refused to set foot outside. It was either the furloughed fowl  friends or the frozen chill. The temperature was  a balmy 24 degrees. I know —  warm compared to a place like Iceland. But, below normal for this part of the Middle Atlantic States here in Conshohocken, PA of the USA.

But I call it frigid. I knew ice boxes that were warmer inside. (Actually, they were before my time, the so-called “ice boxes,” but I do remember “ice trucks,” those that delivered ice to homes in my old neighborhood of Brewerytown. Fell off the back of one while requisitioning a chunk for myself, and ended up unconscious and in a hospital. But, that’s another story). 

The rooster has been quite cordial of late. Yesterday, was the first time he has not tried to attack me in days. Yeah, if I’m not on time with the meal, or try to feed another animal before feeding him, “Sombitch” comes after me. Had to use a trash can lid to protect myself a couple of days ago.

And, he jumped over the lid and hit me upside the head.

That’s when I kicked him. Not a “hard” kick, even though I really wanted to. It was a what I called a “push” kick. I pushed so far he sailed six to eight feet backwards and almost four feet high, landing in a mound of snow. I felt sorry for him immediately after sending him into flight, but, boy, did it look funny. Cartoonish, in a way.

Wouldn’t you know it. He “jump flew” out of the snow and came right back at me. I had to close and “bolt” the door to the shed to ward off his latest attack. Earlier, he had knocked food out of my hand and it spilled onto the straw-covered wooden floor of his home. I picked up as much as I could, scooped some back into the bowl, and learned that it might be wiser to let him out before stepping into his “den” to feed “his” hens and his offspring.

Sombitch” is such an appropriate name.

“Accommodating” is what I would have called him on Tuesday, Feb. 16, 2010. Didn’t want to be late with a morning appointment I had with the Veterans Administration in Philadelphia,  so I braved entering the shed with the rooster  inside. Got nary a peep out of him inside the chicken coop. Even when I turned my back and leaned over to feed the rabbit in his separate hutch. The rooster showed patience. He let his “spurs” chill out when he had the opportunity to do damage.

I should have known something good was happening in my life right then and there. There were no rooster attacks. I escaped feeding the animals without getting chicken poop on my hands, jacket or pants. No delay caused by a rambunctious cock. I got into a “flow” and discovered that  the rooster-friendly relationship I discovered this special morning was a gift, some “mana” from heaven” a sign that I was to walk unheeded, and carry out exactly what was needed on such a miraculous path that was opening for me this day.

Next Part See:

A ‘right’ path may never be obstructed long

Believe in Miracles? See how they started with me this week at:        A new tutor learns a lesson from real life                                    
Possibly related:  Retreat causes ‘after shocks’ to some riders

10 comments on “Rooster helps open path to miraculous day

  1. kim says:

    I used to have three drakes. Luckily no spurs, but that doesn’t keep them from biting. I hate ducks to this day. Be sure to arm yourself around that rooster!

    Like

    • contoveros says:

      I never knew such nice looking feathered creatures could be so damn mean.

      Will carry a metal pole to deal with him from now on . . .

      Drakes, huh. Who would have thunk it?

      Like

  2. *chuckle*

    That is why I was worried about your eyes – the S.O.B. seems to think he has found a weak spot (or rather a blind spot?)

    I think it is safe to say that he is underestimating you in the extreme…

    As far as I know both Fathers AND Lawyers also have eyes in the back of their heads and extra sensory perception – bet he didn’t think about THAT when he decided to take out your other eye.

    All the same – use a pressure cooker and he will be so tender you wouldn’t even know he was a tough old bugger to begin with.

    If all else fails – maybe there is a way to brighten his outlook and salve his perspective and gain a little respect?

    “Cuius testiculos habes, habeas cardia et cerebellum”
    (Maybe show him the pot and let him make up his own mind? – Do Rooster’s even HAVE testicles? – just curious…)

    M.L.

    Like

    • contoveros says:

      Yes, M.L., they do have testicles.
      Unless they’re called capons. That’s a rooster with ’em cut out.

      (ouch!)

      When my “country” cousin, Rosie, told me this, I swore I would never eat one.

      I may reconsider the sacredness of that oath now.

      michael j

      Like

  3. Hmm…

    Sounds like it might almost be time for some rooster n’ dumplings Michael…

    (just sayin’)

    Mind he doesn’t go for your eyes – if so, kick a little harder. Maybe he just needs his attitude adjusted a little to the left.

    *grin*

    M.L.

    P.S. I have a good recipe – you know – if you ever want it…

    Like

    • contoveros says:

      “Sombitch” must know I only got one good eye. Got a patch over the bad one.

      May take you up on that recipe.

      Probably wreck may day eating him . . . too hard . . . too stringy . . . I’d choke on one of his crotchety bones.

      michael j

      Like

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