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Thursday, January 31, 2008

Oh the Drama!

I awoke to 3 inches of snow, and now I am watching it still come down. It is one of those mornings where I feel like I am 12 years old again.

I don't wanna.
Shuffling my feet through the house, my hands making odd limp gestures at my side as I fling my shoulders about. Boots thump on the floor, as I huff at my chores. Ungrateful mutters escapes my tight lips as a thrust my boots on, a motion better used for pulling fence posts. Stomp stomp stomp, heavy snow boots smack the floor, the door slamming behind me as I push my way through the white-out. I bet if I fell down and froze to death, no one would care or notice. A once repressed teen angst bubbles to the surface as I call out DDDDOOOOOOONNNNKEY! Smokeysmokeysmokey, trinatrinatrina, Arrow. chickchickchickchick! Making a cursory head count of who I still have running for their food, I eye FogHorn LegHorn with disgust. You would kill me if you could.
Foghorn Leghorn
Snow batters at my exposed face, stinging my eyes as my shivering, gloved hands grab the pitch fork and begin to break the ice in the water trough. My eyes glancing from side to side, watching my own back from attack. Foghorn Leghorn stalks about, crowing his putrid hatred, and dancing the dance of a murderer. He moves in for a strike, my angst disappears as I know I must now struggle to keep my own life. Instinctually my combat booted foot flings out toward my attacker, my kick misses, but the white feathered death stills runs into the boot. You're a little challenged, aren't you. I mutter my disgust. He shakes it off, and crows as though he was king, and he meant to do that. With a shake, he flies up on the fence, a perch were he can eye me, and threaten me easily.

The ice is broken, and I trudge my way back through the gate, still keeping an eye on that rooster. Even my leather work gloves can no longer hold back the bitting cold. Just as I close the gate, Foghorn Leghorn makes one last desperate attempt to dispatch me. His regal attitude towards my leaving the pen, shows that he is the victor in this life or death struggle that is replayed daily.

Blinded by the snow, I manage to slowly find my way back inside my warm house, where coffee is waiting for me, hopefully.


abbagirl74 said...

I love it! I can totally imagine you doing that. I am pretty much snowed into my driveway and will eventually have to go out today and shovel my way out. Lovely.

Let me know about tomorrow.

Anita said...

Great post...

Seems he has found a worthy opponent... ;)

alrescate said...

Hhmmm. I see a cast iron skillet in that rooster's future.

Try to stay warm!

P~ said...

I love that post phelan! It's a different sort of writing than I'm used to reading from you, so colorful.
"Snow batters at my exposed face, stinging my eyes..."
"...crowing his putrid hatred, and dancing the dance of a murderer."
Great writing, hope you'll do it more often.

BoysMom said...

Gotta love roosters. Will he beat up the neighbors' maurauding dogs for you? Does he turn into a big baby at night? (Our mean roosters, when I was a kid, always did.)

Stephanie said...

Is that the sound of a stew pot I hear calling?

deconstructingVenus said...

Tag! You're it! Go to my blog for details.

Stephanie said...

Yeah Im totally feeling you on this snow bit. Most of IL is getting hit and out here we had it intermittent with freezing rain. Gotta love hidden ice grr took me 30 minutes for a 10 min drive tonight.

Robbyn said...

you just evoked memories of the last round of "she'll be comin' 'round the mountain" involving making chicken and dumplings...

Anonymous said...

LOL! What a great post phelan! I can relate to the rooster. We had a leghorn who would attack everyone as well. Let us know how you serve him up!! :)

Phelan said...

abba, tomorrow, not sure when I will be in town. Is there a time you would like?

Anita, that he is.

alrescate, maybe. and you too.

P~ Thank you. Did you know that on my sidebar there is a free downloadable e-book? It is a book I wrote in 2 days as a challenge.

Boysmom, I don't think he sleeps. He crows all the time... maybe he sleep crows.

Stephanie, but if I did that, who would keep me on my toes?

DV, done.

Robbyn, you are welcome for that earworm.

Farm mom, I was informed that leghorns are all mean. Makes me feel a little better about it.

lisa said...

Oh yea, I remember it well! Chores on the horse farm in the freezing cold, and a threatening leghorn (but only toward my sister, thankfully). Those roosters aren't all that tasty, either! Well, maybe for broth...

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