Wednesday, 04 November 2009

• And then things got a tad bit crazy.

  Sunday's tale.  Continued.
  
  After we'd enjoyed our lunch and chit-chatted and sent the kids and the unmeasurable amount of noise they were making outside, my mother-in-law had to hit the road in order to make it home before dark.  The girls said good-bye to Mamaw, and I started in on the dishes.
  
  
  Meanwhile, my dad had taken notice of the huge crop of hickory nuts we have on our property.  He announced that he would like some to take home with him.  Then he promptly lay down in the recliner and went to sleep. 
  
  Somewhere in the midst of this, my mom looked out the window and said, "Um.  There is a huge dog on your porch."  We don't own a dog. 
  
  "Is it a white dog?"  I asked.
  
  Beki walked to the window.  "It's a yellow lab, I think." 
  
  "Yep.  That's Clarence.  He's the neighbor's dog.  He's very friendly and comes to visit sometime."  For the record, Clarence and I are on a first-name basis.  His owner, Ed, however, I have never met.  Is that strange?
  
  The kids went out to play with the dog.  My sister went out to collect a bucket of nuts for Dad, as a dutiful daughter should.  One of the twins came tearing through the house to announce that she had taught Clarence a trick, and she insisted we all come outside to watch "The Dog Show."  Mom was resting on the couch, Dad still asleep in the recliner, and Phoebe napping.  The rest of us ended up outside, watching Clarence fetch sticks and hickory nuts.
  
  As we're watching this, something catches my eye down by the road.  "Look.  I think a chicken's coming over here."  It wandered across the road and made it's way up the hillside.  It was met with much love and affection.
  

  Or not.
  
  But guess what?  We've answered the age-old question!  Why did the chicken cross the road?  He wanted to see The Dog Show.
  
  
  He's an attractive fellow, isn't he?
  
  
  He's popular with the ladies.
  
  
  Not so much with the cat.
  
  A little background about the cat.  He just showed up one day.  I don't feed strays.  The theory is that then they will go HOME instead of thinking my place is home.  This cat did NOT go home.  He just sat at my windows and yelled.  Yes, this cat yells.  He's the loudest cat on the planet.  And he's very lovable.  His name is Hunter.  We were hoping the fierce moniker would inspire him to control the vermin that come with living in the boondocks.  So far he has not controlled a raccoon, a peacock, and now a rooster.  He's killed two extremely vicious chipmunks.  Ooooh.  Scary creatures, those chipmunks.
  
  Phoebe woke up, so we introduced her to all the visiting critters.  She ignored Clarence. 
  
  This is what she thought of the rooster.
  
  
  My favorite shot of the rooster and the onlookers.
  
   
  
  It's Wednesday.  The rooster is still here.  He was crowing on my porch at 6:15 this morning.  Right outside the window where I have my quiet time.
  
  I told the rooster's owners, and they've been over to claim him a couple of times, but he's more of a free-range chicken, so he just comes over to our place during the day (presumably because we have warmer sunshine on our side of the valley).  He mostly goes back to his place to roost at night.
  
  Josie said the other day, "Well, I guess he's ours now."  No, Josie.  That only works with cats.
  
  We have, however, named the rooster now.  Ted.  As in "Hun-Ted."  It seems to be as successful a name as Hunter.
  
  
  

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