My blogging buddy at L Scott Poetry wrote a beautiful poem about a crowing rooster, and now I’m remembering stories Mom told me about the horrible rooster that was Grandpa Schmelter’s (her dad) pride and joy.
He strutted around the yard like some giant peacock and had an attitude to match. Mom hated him and Aunt Ginnie — Ginnie Annie as Mom called her sister — was terrified of him because he always pecked at her every time she came near him. According to Mom, that awful bird deliberately picked on Aunt Ginnie!
One day Aunt Ginnie was told to go outside and collect the eggs, but she was too afraid to go; so Mom went instead. Mom was carrying a frying pan because there weren’t enough eggs for a bucket. That bird flew at Mom, and she wacked him with the pan like a slugger would a baseball!
The hard part was going inside and telling Grandpa what she’d done because Grandpa loved that dang bird. He was broken hearted, but Grandma fried that cocky dead rooster up for dinner anyway. And Mom told me: “That was the toughest old bird she’d ever eaten.”