Coming Home to Roost

Last night, after a family dinner at Matt's parents house to celebrate the visit of Matt's cousin and his wife, we headed to the old house to try to round up that rascally rooster.

Each man, woman and child was armed with his or her weapon of choice. Matt had a king-sized sheet, Grace and Elizabeth had cardboard boxes, Paul had a rake and I had a broom (I had been sweeping off the porch). The neighbor boy even came over to help.

We chased that chicken ALL over the property and even onto the neighbor's property at times. I'm sure we were quite a sight to see. Lydia ran behind the group yelling, "Bok, bok, bok!" Joel toddled behind her as fast as his little legs would carry him. He yelled, too, but I'm sure he had no idea why. I brought up the rear. Matt said he wished he would have gotten a picture of me.

We had that chicken cornered so many times, only to have him escape from our grasp. Forty five minutes into the hunt, the neighbor boy caught the bugger with his bear hands. As we were putting the rooster in the cardboard box, he escaped again, flying up into my face. The neighbor boy's quick hands saved the day, though. He caught the rooster mid-air and squeezed him back into the box. Matt quickly closed the lid. By then it was way past bedtime and Matt still hadn't packed for his trip, so we all loaded into the van to head home.

The rooster was happy to be reunited with his harem, although he was grieved at the Plymouth Bard Rock's untimely passing. Early this morning I heard him cockle-doodle-doing. Now I have the pleasure of hearing a rooster in even closer proximity. We'll see how long that lasts. Maybe he,too, will meet an untimely demise and be reunited with the Plymouth Bard Rock in chicken heaven.

Here he is, in all his egotistical glory: