By Vicki Brown
Recently I attended a children’s camp and met a very “interesting” child. He told me about a recent or-deal in his life, and when he finished, I couldn’t decide if the whole story was funny or appalling.
When I was introduced to this little fellow, I immediately noticed a small cut on his cheek bone and had to ask what had happened. His story went like this.
“I went out to our chicken coop to get eggs for my mom,” he said. “But we have a couple of roosters that don’t like it when I do that.”
“Well, what happened to your face?” I asked.
His brown eyes widened as he leaned toward me for emphasis. “I was attacked by one of the roosters!” he said.
“Oh, no,” I said. “What happened?”
“That nasty rooster Sam flew up to my head and spurred me on my cheek!” he said, pointing to the wound.
I was horrified. I knew those things were dangerous, but I confess, I had never met anyone who had been spurred before. I found myself staring at the cut on his cheek.
“Then what happened?” I asked.
“I yelled for my mom, and she came out of the house and grabbed the rooster. Then she held it by its feet and hung it upside down!”
I found my mind drifting off to picture a strong pioneer woman running in to grab a vicious chicken and save her son. But he suddenly caught my attention and continued with his story.
“Yep, she hung it upside down and cut its throat!” As he said that, he drew his thumb across his neck in a slicing motion and made a grating sound with his vocal chords. “She killed that rooster!”
Shocked, this city girl was rather horrified by the incident, and especially by this adorable blond child who was so enthusiastic about killing a rooster. But then, I thought that I might have done the same thing had it been my child who was attacked by an evil bird.
But the boy wasn’t finished with his story and unwillingly, I found my attention back on him.
“My mom cut off its head that was still attached to the neck, and I buried it in the back yard with the head sticking up,” he started laughing. “It served him right for hurting me!”
I wasn’t sure what to say about that. Truthfully, I was rather grossed out, but the lifestyle of a typical farm boy eludes me, so I wasn’t sure if this was typical behavior.
Rather haltingly, I said I was so glad that the whole ordeal was over and that he was alright.
He smiled at me, looking so innocent with that blond hair and large brown eyes. And then he added to the story.
“And guess what!” he said, those eyes widened even further.
“What?” I asked…really almost scared to ask.
“I cut off those spurs and put them in a jar in my room!” he exclaimed gleefully.
“Um, Congratulations?” I wasn’t sure what to say, but he seemed pleased by my response.
“And then guess what!” he asked as I just shook my head. I was mesmerized by then and it’s like watching an impending car wreck…I couldn’t look away.
“The other rooster we have stole Sam’s roost and took over. And then, my cousin came over the next day and said that the chicken we gave her was delicious!” At that, he grabbed his tummy and bent over laughing. “I didn’t have the heart to tell her that it was Rooster Sam that she ate!”
I admit, I was giggling by then, so satisfied, the little cherub took off running to play.
All I have to say is this: Dear Dad and Mom, thank you for not being farmers. I don’t think I was cut out to be a farm kid.
