A few weeks ago, my husband, the Big Guy, decided to enter his favorite rooster in the county fair. The rooster was caught without much fanfare. All it took was watermelon--and a hen eating the melon. My husband swooped down, caught the rooster, and didn't get spurred. But he experienced a few nail-biting moments, because the competition was fierce; all the other chickens had been bathed, and ours was a bit dusty.
But Roo won a blue ribbon.
After we brought Roo home, my husband asked me to take their photo. But the rooster flew out of the crate and escaped into the front yard. He was fast!
Big, Bandwidth, and I ran around like the Three Stooges, but Roo outsmarted us. Now he's living by the pool, crowing at dawn. He can't find the barn, and we can't catch him.
It's a definite smile-maker to glance out the window and see the rooster strutting up the driveway or pecking in the grass. My husband brought Roo a hen for company, and we thought a happy ending was at hand. The next morning, the hen was in the barn, and Roo was alone. Again.
Solution: Put out chicken scratch and buy his 'n her earplugs.
I'm linking to the Barnyard Bash at Happier than a Pig in Mud.
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