LIFE IN THE COOP
None knew more than me the perils of living life in a chicken coop. In a coop, although you know how it will end, you gain a certain perspective on life. It gives you time to think. If your cage is next to the window, it also gives you time to see things. I've only been here two weeks, and I can already tell something's brewing. My abductors, Lee Cooper and family, are busy planning a party. Occasionally I hear glimpses of their conversation as they trudge back and forth between the outhouse and the main house (which are almost the same size). "Paw, paw... when are we gona hav the feast?", the little one would yell. This kid seems a healthy, although slightly skinny kid, except for the missing ear. I am not sure how the ear was lost. My guess is that he's about 9 years old, which seems young to me for having such a gregacious chewing tobacco habit. His teeth aren't brown yet, which is more than I can say for the rest of the family.
But I digress. The thought of them having a feast fills me with forboding, being the only critter that could be considered livestock that I've seen. Lee himself seems excited. I heard him say, "It's gonna be a costume party". My last days on earth should be interesting.
I never see the lady of the house. Occasionally I will see the little one running buckets of her excrement to the outhouse. From the snatches of conversation I am able to pick up, I gather that her girth has outgrown the metrics of the doorframe of their cottage, and barring some deconstruction, she will remain housebound for the forseeable future.
Occasionally the little one will come and poke me with a stick, to see if I am staying fat enough for the prepared feast. I fight down the urge to yell at him to quit. Can you imagine the torture I would endure if they found out I was a chicken that could talk? The carnivals, the endless gaping masses. No, I'd rather face my death like a real chicken (running around headless for a while).
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The day of the costume feast is here. Apparently all the friends that hillbilLEE could muster had come for the grand occasion. And a scary sight it was. Everybody was dressed as a President of the United States. Druss was dressed as George Washington. He seemed a bit more comfortable in his powdered wig than a man should. I got the feeling that he was no stranger to drag. Ross and Kasha (to the embassasment of both) were identically dressed as Abraham Lincoln. The black top hats and pointed beards were impressive. If Kasha were taller than 3 foot 4 inches, he may have seemed more the part. Both Ross and Kasha kept saying "Four-score and seven beers ago...", then giggling hysterically. Taxi was dressed as FDR, completely in drag. I have never seen a man wearing pumps who had so much hair on his back (and palms). Lee of course, was dressed as Clinton, complete with overalls and a corncob pipe. I am almost beginning to enjoy the spectacle when I hear those fateful words... "Time to eat!"
Lee sends Ross and Kasha over to the coop to retrieve me for dinner. It was almost surreal seeing those twin Lincolns marching towards me as surely and steadily as the grim reaper. My resolve vanished. I could not let myself go out like this. I must try to survive. Better to live in a carnival than to be digested in the stomachs of such motley humans.
As they reach into the coop to retrieve me, I summon my best Charlton Heston voice and yell
Get your hands off me.... You damn dirty Abes!!!
TLC
to be continued |
