Sunday, April 02, 2006

Playing chicken

Yesterday the kids and I went to Wal*Mart to get the stuff for the get-together we were having last night. I had called Tater to see if she needed anything from town and yes she did, so I picked up 5 of the 7 layers in 7-Layer Tex-Mex Dip for her. I was running so incredibly late - I hadn't actually prepared any of the food, I hadn't showered and the house was still a disaster, so I called them to see if Bub could meet me at the end of the dirt road and pick up the missing layers. I got to the road before he did, so I went to the back of the van to sort out the groceries. I was bent over in the back of the van searching for guacamole and sour cream. I found all the ingredients, straightened up and shut the van doors, turned and oh holy chickens THERE WAS A ROOSTER LIKE, RIGHT THERE!!!

I am scared of chickens. Growing up, I was the only one of Papa's grandkids that didn't get flogged by the Mac Daddy of all roosters up at the farm. It's because I avoided them. Frankly, they terrify me.

Upon discovering said rooster, naturally, I screamed. And his reply was a hateful, throaty BAWK!! I screamed again as he started doing his funky chicken approach and then I started waving the Wal*Mart sack full of groceries. And still he approached. He was relentless. He was evil. He was chicken. And so was I.

Now, keep in mind my kids are still in the van and well, many thoughts were going through my head, but the main one was, my children are going to witness their mother being dismembered and eaten by a rabid chicken. I was scared for them. Yeah. For them.

I was backing up, still swinging my bag of guacamole and other acoutrements when Bub pulled up. Seeing me in obvious peril, he drove the car directly at the demon poultry. My hero, my brother in law. Of course, he was laughing at me being backed into the ditch by a chicken, but I didn't care. My children had been saved from watching their mother being pecked to death on a county road in broad daylight on April Fool's Day of all days. The rooster, he ran.

I walked toward Bub, trying to catch my breath (yes, I was nearly hyperventilating) and handed him the groceries. I'm thinking now that maybe that rooster just didn't want me to give him the groceries because here he came again - bigger, badder, angrier and obviously craving guacamole. Bub is not afraid of poultry and ran at the thing while I did a very frightened high-steppy kind of run to the back of my van, where I stood shaking in fear by the bumper. Oh but that rooster wasn't to be bullied and came right back. I was just waiting for the moment when its back was turned because I was making a run for the van door.

Finally, Bub managed to run it as far as the fence and I made a scurry toward my van door. I said, "ByethankyouI'llseeyoutonight!" and sped off before the rooster could get to my van door, open it, pull me out to peck me to death.

I was so freaked out by the incident that I didn't immediately hear my children laughing at me. My 4 year old, 7 year old and 9 year old were all three doubled over laughing, tears running down their faces, unable to even speak for the laughter that consumed them. I kind of chuckled, too, because I'm sure the whole scenario was pretty funny. Finally the laughter subsided, the van got quiet and Abby chuckled quietly and said,

"Oh my gosh. Mom, you are such. a. weenie."

8 comments:

Anonymous said...

My dad had a rooster like that too. I used to pull my car all the way up to his porch and climb out the car window onto the porch rail and take a flying leap for the screen door. And of course, I tried to run over it while pulling up to the door! My dad told me it chased my uncle one night all through the prairie and scratched the heck out of his legs. My uncle had been drinking and was trying to relieve himself. I still roll on the floor laughing picturing my uncle running with his pants around his ankles trying to get away from the demon rooster!

Titanium said...

What a great story! I almost got pecked by a rooster at my grandparents' house when I was a kid. They are scary!

Hillbilly Mom said...

"Let's put 'im in a pot!"

Small Town Starlit said...

Let me set the scene.

The year is 2026. Kady sits on a sofa. She is chain smoking.

"...and then my mom started screaming. *takes a drag* A rabid rooster was coming toward our van. Did she protect her children? Did she protect me, her baby, her princess? NO! She took off running to a ditch. *takes a drag* It's *drag* a good thing *drag* that my Uncle Bubba happened upon us!"

Yeah. Your kids are going to have the best stories in their therepy sessions!

Anonymous said...

I'm scared of chickens (and geese and ducks and pigeons and turkeys and.....) too. You're in good company, girl.

Anne said...

okay..my favorite part was the "swinging my bag of guacamole"

My co-workers are asking me what I am laughing at but me telling it is just not the same! :)

Redneck Diva said...

Anon1, the rooster that got the other grandkids up at Papa's was like that. He was more of a watchdog than the dogs! He'd run tough old farmers back to their trucks!

Titanium, thankfully I've never had that experience. I don't intend to any time soon either!

Hillbilly Mom, if I weren't so frightened of him I would consider it!

Starlit, some therapist is going to be able to retire because of my children. When they graduate high school they won't get new cars, they'll get paid therapy sessions.

Anon2, at least I'm not the only one! Mr.Diva makes so much fun of me for being scared of a durn bird.

Anne, I was swinging that guacamole for all it was worth! It was the only thing between me and certain death! Glad you got a laugh, just hope you didn't get in trouble for laughing too loud at work! :)

Stacie said...

Yep, I'm scared of chickens, too. And roosters. When I was about 5 years old, my grandma Dinwiddie told me that she had some baby bunnies that I could go look at and pet down at the barn so I headed off down there by myself like I did every Sunday. There was a mother hen who had just hatched out her baby chicks and I obviously got too close for her comfort and she flogged me. Scarred me for life because I won't walk through a bunch of chickens pecking in a yard now to save my life. Oh, and my Mother says that when she was a kid, they had a guard rooster instead of a guard dog. She named him Lucifer. Need I say more?