By Charles Towne
“If that darned old rooster attacks me once more I’m going to wring his miserable neck.” Those were daddy’s exact words.
And so it began.
Fiddlesticks was his name, and he lived by grace, mama’s grace. Nobody was allowed to harm Fiddlesticks under any circumstances.
As far as mama was concerned Fiddlesticks could do no wrong, but the rest of the family surely knew better.
You are probably wondering just who Fiddlesticks was, aren’t you? Back on the old home place fiddlesticks ruled the roost, quite literally I might add.
Fiddlesticks was a big old red rooster, a real cock of the walk, the sort that gives all roosters a bad name.
Nobody was safe from that demon-possessed rooster. He would attack anything and anybody. Dogs were fair game as were cats, other chickens, the cow, our horse, me, my siblings, even daddy, and I don’t mind telling you that nobody attacked daddy, at least nobody in his right mind.
But mama for some reason was off-limits, Fiddlesticks for whatever reason saw her as inviolate and invincible.
Over the years I have had some formidable bird acquaintances. As a zoo director, I have had eagles, owls, hawks and cara cara, which is Mexico’s national bird.
And I might add that If you have not been vomited on by a turkey vulture you have missed one of the greatest and most singular pleasures of life.
And then there are great blue herons.
I was canoeing in a Michigan swamp. I had decided to photograph the activity and life on a great blue heron rookery that contained more than a hundred nests. Each nest contained at least one immature heron, and I might add that each of those diabolical birds was well fed.
I don’t know why but great blue herons don’t like me.
I have never been able to figure out what triggered their response, but quite suddenly each of those birds chose that exact moment, (or so it seemed) to evacuate their blessed little bowels, and I was their target!
Did I mention that I don’t like great blue herons?
Oh yes, back to fiddlesticks, my mama’s big red rooster.
I imagine Fiddlesticks suffered from suicidal tendencies because one fateful day he committed the unpardonable sin… he threw caution to the wind and attacked mama.
Did I mention that my mama was a wonderful cook?
If you take a tough old red rooster and after wringing his neck and plucking all his feathers you cut him up and boil him, and then fry him, that mean old bird will turn out so nice and tender and, delicious? I should say so!
Papa God, sin stinks doesn’t it? We are told in your word that the prayers of the righteous rise up to you as sweet incense. Please accept our prayers as they are intended. We love you O Holy one, In Jesus blessed name, Amen.
Charles Towne is first and foremost a Christian. An octogenarian, author, journalist, wildlife photographer, naturalist, caregiver, and survivor, his life has been and continues to be, a never-ending adventure filled with possibilities never imagined. He has adopted the philosophy that to Live fully, laugh uproariously, love passionately, and learn like there is no tomorrow, is a formula for a long and joy-filled life.