June 29, 2008

• …I’m takin’ over this here writin’ column for a while. The Lady on the Hill is busy right now, doing somethin’ she calls baby-settin’, so she asked me to take a shot at this bloggin’. I don’t know of any other roosters who blog, but then, I really don’t know any other roosters. Maybe I’m the first? And about that babysettin’: my gals set on eggs, but I sure hope that Lady don’t set on no baby.

  Let me introduce myself. I’m Delbert and this here barnyard is my kingdom. That’s right, I’m the king of this place, and if you don’t believe me just ask any of these here gals. They know who’s in charge, and his name is Delbert!

  Ain’t Delbert a grand name for a rooster? Funny thing is, I wasn’t always called Delbert. Way back when I first come to live in this here barnyard, she called me Della. Crazy, ain’t it? Seems the first thing the Lady did was start givin’ names to all of us. There was Bertha, Ollie, Arrie, Cleffie, Minnie, Mattie and Vergie…and me she called Della. Well, that went on for a while till I couldn’t stomach that Della business no longer, and I up and crowed right at her. Next thing you know, She was calling me Delbert. Boy, I showed her!

                             

  Them gals I just mentioned? Just so you know, they’re all mine. Yep, I got me quite a harem. These gals do as I say, anytime I say it, cause I rule this here roost. ‘Course, it ain’t all play and no work. I got to keep ‘em safe. They got bad habits, like wanderin’ away and scratchin’ for worms and bugs right out in the middle of the horse pasture. Seems like ever’time that happens, here comes a big old hawk, swoopin’ down and scatterin’ chickens all over the place. That’s when I go to work, gatherin’ ‘em up and chasin’em back into the bushes where it’s safe.

  We’ve got lots a territory to cover around here. That Lady on the Hill made a fence to go around our house, but she wasn’t smart enough to know we’d just go under it. Then she spent a whole afternoon, drivin’ little stakes through the bottom edge to keep it down, but shucks, it wasn’t nothin’ to push those up. We’ve been out ever day of our lives, makin’ our ramble round this place. Me and the gals have got us a reg’lar routine.

  The first thing we do is check to see what the horses didn’t eat. The Man feeds them every morning in their pasture, and sometimes they spill some of that good grain on the ground. Then we dig around in the hay and around the water tank, where we can usually find some good grubs.

  By then it’s time for Bertha or one of the other gals to go lay an egg. They get back in the house, climb up in the nests and go to squawkin’, back and forth, encouragin’ each other like, till finally they get the job done and we can all get back to business. All I can say is, I’m glad I’m a rooster and don’t have to mess with layin’ no eggs.

                                  

  We like to get our drinks from where the Lady waters her Dog and Cat. She has a big pan of water for us by the barn, but for some reason, it ain’t as good. The water up by the house is just better, so we go up and get us a good, long drink. Chickens can’t take in much at a time, so it takes us a while. We like to feel those drops run down the throat, nice and cool, especially on these hot summer days. And while we’re there, we check out the Dog and Cat dishes. Sometimes they might leave a little for us, if they’re feelin’ generous.

                                   

  Now, this part may be a little delicate for some of you folks, so just plug up your ears if you don’t want to hear it. Right there on that nice brick patio is where we like to do our business, if you get my drift. Like humans, we like bein’ reg’lar as rain, and just after a good, deep drink is a fine time for us to relieve ourselves. Sometimes I think it must make the Lady mad, ‘cause she comes stormin’ out with her broom, but then sometimes I think she’s just a little tetched. After all, it’s just natural.

  By now, me and the gals are about plumb tuckered, but we’ve got the finest nappin’ spot you ever saw! The Lady fixed it up just for us. It’s a shady little bed of flowers, all planted with hydrangeas and hostas and this little vine called a clematis that is so pretty. We get in that little bed and scratch us out some smooth little places and hunker down for a rest.

   

  Every once in a while, the Lady forgets it is our place and she goes in there and plants some little flowers called impatiens all around, so we have to scratch those up and kick ‘em out into the yard. Then we have us quite a rodeo! That Lady comes out with that infernal broom again, hollerin’ and mad, tryin’ to sweep us outta our bed. I think she must really like that broom! But we just run off under the hill till she calms down and then we can go back and get our rest. We’ll have us one or two of those chases before she gives up and lets us have it to ourselves. It’s a mighty fine restin’ place, after all that hullabaloo.

                                

  We’ve got us another real good place the Lady lets us use; she calls it a garden and she spends a lot of time workin’ on it for us. Last week, she got out some big bales of straw, broke those up and scattered it all around the plants. But she forgot that we don’t like it too deep–that makes it hard to dig into the dirt and find worms and bugs. So we had us a mighty hard time of it, scratchin’ all that straw out into the yard. We knew it was gonna be a big job, so we got started soon as she quit and went back up the Hill. It took most of that afternoon, but the girls do what I say and they got it done. I kept tellin’ ‘em, Scratch! Scratch! and they did it. By evenin’, there was plenty of good, bare places opened back up for us.

  But I’m here to tell you that Lady didn’t appreciate our efforts, not one bit! She came runnin’ down that hill, mad as an old hornet, and low and behold, if she didn’t grab up an old bucket and throw it right at me! Nearly hit me, too! Me and the gals had to duck and run for cover and stay hid in the ditch for a good, long while. Meanwhile, that Lady almost earned herself a new name. She was sputterin’ and spewin’ and said a few words that don’t really go with that Lady business.

  But we’ve got our troubles all behind us now. The Lady seems to be all smiles and happy again, the reason bein’ that Bertha has gone to settin’. Yep, she’s plum broody, and I’m proudly makin’ the announcement here and now. Six nice big brown eggs are fixin’ to hatch, and soon there’ll be little peeps runnin’ all around the place.

  But I’m here to tell you I surely hope we don’t have a repeat of what happened last year. Roosters can handle about any emergency that pokes its head in the henhouse, but there’s a few things that is just outta my control.

  It was about this time last summer, and seems like it was Ollie settin’ then. The rest of us were workin’ away around the barn, when Mama set up a squawkin’ like you never heard in your life! I come a runnin’, with the other gals fast on my heels, but we stopped short at our little door. What we saw nearly struck me dumb! There was a big old black snake, all draped over the nestin’ boxes, trying to get Ollie to give up her babes. He’d already swallered two fresh eggs that a couple of the gals had laid, but that hadn’t satisfied him.

  I found my voice, give the signal, and all of us went to hollerin’ and carryin’ on, squawkin’ and shriekin’ like the sky was fixin’ to fall. Some of the gals went to flutterin’, too. Lucky for Ollie and the peeps, the Lady was workin’ in her yard and heard us and come a runnin’. When she saw that monster, she commenced to squawkin’, too, and run up the Hill faster’n I ever seen her run before. Quick-like, here come the Man with a big stick in his hands, and before we could clear outta the way, BOOM, that big stick went off and scared that big blacksnake plumb to death.

                                       

  It’s a pure wonder Ollie and her babies survived all the commotion, but they come outta those shells in a few days, fluffy and fine. Ollie did a good job being mama, but she had more than she could handle, so she turned one of the little ones over to Speckle, a newcomer from over Brixey way, who took right to the mama business.

                               

  Those little ones grew up to be mostly fine hens, but a couple of ‘em thought they’d horn in on my job, so they got sent to the neighbor’s. I don’t hear any crowin’ from up his way, and the gals have heard gossip about choppin’ blocks and wringin’ of necks, but I won’t tolerate that sort of speculation. It ain’t healthy.

  Well, folks, I’ve got hens that need tendin’ to, so it’s time for Delbert to get back to work. I’m wonderin’ if they’d let me sign up for this here Xanga? If they do, I’ll call myself ozarksfarmchicken, ‘cause that’s surely what I am. It’s not been too hard for me to scratch out this little bit of writin’. I’ll be lettin’ you know when they’s more news from the farm yard. Y’all have yourselves a good old day, hear?

  • 10:54 am
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