A week ago when I was on the rider mower, I looked over and saw a rooster; I saw him while I was in my yard and he was too. It’s not as if I looked over the fence or over the hedge or over the road; I just glanced over about six feet from my mower seat and THERE HE WAS.

It was kind of surprising but, hey, once a big pig wandered over from a close farm and my mother had to hop right back into the car she had just gotten out of. I figured someone would round up the rooster guy sooner or later.

He was there today, just hanging around the yard close to the house. When I took an unexpected turn (as far as he was concerned) with the mower, he hopped quickly away with one of his  little chicken feet pulled up  under him. When he slowed down, he put both feet down and limped on slowly.

I just realized that was when I forgot about him. I don’t know if he was hovering in the background of my awareness or not after that. I may have started to take him for granted. Now, what kind of situation is that? Oh, yeah, there’s a rooster in my yard. How’s your rooster? If he is there the next time, I imagine he will become “the rooster”  – one step away from having a name.

I’ll bet Martha Stewart is jealous. Probably not. And come to think of it, she was a cooped up jailbird herself. Auuuugggghhh, that was so petty and mean. But, heck, I never liked her anyway. Well, I have to go chop my foldover into a semblance of a budding rose and put in on parsley.