Approaching East
Lime Kiln Road and Highway 49 on my way to work this morning, I had to
stop my car completely as the narrow roadway momentarily became
a livestock cross walk. There was a dog, a goat and a scattering of
chickens. Yes, chickens. And they were all impeding traffic.
After the dog, goat and remaining poultry got out of the way, a one-legged rooster limped behind the menagerie. As two other cars stopped behind me, their drivers likely growing impatient, the disabled bird took a quick gander in my direction. Maybe he admired my view that way. Or perhaps making sure he had the right of way. Whichever the reason, for a split second, the full-of-himself-fowl seemed to take on human characteristics. He strolled with an over-confident air, almost like he was daring me to step on the gas and run over him- go ahead punk; make my day- before calmly proceeding across the pavement.
He took his time, though, favoring his game leg. I have no idea what was wrong with it but the injury hadn’t kept the cocky capon from strutting his stuff. After swaggering to the other side of Lime Kiln, he was quickly surrounded by the chicks. The dog was peeing on a tree and the goat was eating grass. But the hens swarmed the conceited rooster like he was a winged rock star (an Eagle? A Byrd? A Black Crowe? Or maybe just a Sheryl Crow?) Whichever, the five females scurried along in his wake, pecking and squawking at each other and fighting for his attention. However, the smug rooster paid no attention and, at least outwardly, ignored the ruckus.
After the dog, goat and remaining poultry got out of the way, a one-legged rooster limped behind the menagerie. As two other cars stopped behind me, their drivers likely growing impatient, the disabled bird took a quick gander in my direction. Maybe he admired my view that way. Or perhaps making sure he had the right of way. Whichever the reason, for a split second, the full-of-himself-fowl seemed to take on human characteristics. He strolled with an over-confident air, almost like he was daring me to step on the gas and run over him- go ahead punk; make my day- before calmly proceeding across the pavement.
He took his time, though, favoring his game leg. I have no idea what was wrong with it but the injury hadn’t kept the cocky capon from strutting his stuff. After swaggering to the other side of Lime Kiln, he was quickly surrounded by the chicks. The dog was peeing on a tree and the goat was eating grass. But the hens swarmed the conceited rooster like he was a winged rock star (an Eagle? A Byrd? A Black Crowe? Or maybe just a Sheryl Crow?) Whichever, the five females scurried along in his wake, pecking and squawking at each other and fighting for his attention. However, the smug rooster paid no attention and, at least outwardly, ignored the ruckus.
Oh, but
he was happy.
It'd be
a stretch to assume I know anything about reading birdy body language, but clearly
that rooster was in his element and clearly lovin' the attention. As traffic
moved again, the flock of feathered friends moved as a clique and off into the
brush, to do whatever it is that chickens do for fun. But the
answer to the age old question became obvious: why did the chicken cross the road? For love, baby. Just show
me the honeys. Yep, the boy did it all for love.
Awww. Don’t
you love a story with a happy ending?
I wish i was in the rooster element!
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