Rusty the Rooster is a coward.
He’s chicken even for a chicken. Convinced the world is out to get him his life has become a self-fulfilling prophecy.
The other chickens plop down off the roosts in the morning and stroll outside to see what pleasures await, but not Rusty. Rusty explodes off the roost and hits the ground running, cackling hysterically. Even if the other roosters wanted to ignore him, they could hardly do it.
Rusty making his morning exit is the equivalent of a man clutching a fistful of hundred dollar bills and running around the transit station screaming, “Please don’t mug me!” In a matter of minutes the other roosters have chased Rusty around the yard landing several vicious pecks to his poor frightened head.
Rusty is a walking, squawking poster boy for the law of attraction. If you think something terrible is going to happen, it probably will.
Since I’m a sucker for the underdog — or in this case the underchicken — I intervened by leaving Rusty alone in a pen with the hens and moving all the other roosters into a separate coop to free range.
The other roosters were horrified at this turn of events. They ran back and forth along the length of the hen pen, peering in through the chicken wire at Rusty — Rusty! — who had somehow managed to get all those beautiful chicks to himself.
But did Rusty realize his great fortune? Did he smirk at the other roosters and strut his stuff? Did he share a romantic moment over a juicy grasshopper and a couple fat bugs? Not Rusty. He was too busy fussing and worrying about what might happen to him next. Unfortunately it didn’t take long to find out. A few days later I let the roosters out and then went to the hen house to let Rusty and the girls into their pen. When I opened the outside door, instead of quietly waiting for me to come inside and open the second little door to let them outside, Rusty panicked. Cackling in terror he launched himself off the roost at high speed, ricocheted off my forehead and flung himself past my shoulder towards the open door. I reacted just in time to slam it shut on Rusty’s tail feathers. The hens and I stared in surprise as two big feathers fluttered to the floor, sans owner. Outside Rusty loudly announced his presence with piercing squawks and shrieks and the other roosters obligingly ran after him.
With five roosters in hot pursuit, Rusty launched himself over the sheep fence, landed in the knee high hay field on the other side, and disappeared. It was the strangest thing. I walked the field in a grid fashion but couldn’t find him anywhere. It was almost as if he had fallen down a well. I looked at Crayola the dog, thought of Lassie, and called her over. Whatever genes Crayola carries in her bloodlines, it soon became woefully apparent that they weren’t from Lassie. Or a bird dog. Then I noticed Shoeless the cat slinking through the tall grass. As Crayola and I watched in amazement Shoeless gave a zig and a zag, pounced and up from the grass flew Rusty. As Rusty flew back over the fence, Shoeless sat down, licked her paws and then smirked at Crayola as if to say, “That’s how it’s done you big doofus”.
When Rusty returned I would like to say that everything changed.
That the other roosters witnessed his eagle like flight over the fence, his amazing disappearing act and his incredible escape from the big scary cat and he came home to a hero’s welcome.
Instead I joined the roosters in chasing him around and around the hen house until I was finally able to open the door and shoo him back inside. But strangely, he does seem calmer. Maybe when everything you fear finally happens all at once you stop being scared.
At any rate, we felt so sorry for him instead of ending up in the freezer he has earned himself a permanent roost on the McKinnon farm. Hmmm. Maybe Rusty’s not so stupid after all.
Shannon McKinnon is a Canadian humour columnist. You can read past columns by visiting www.shannonmckinnon.com