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THE RHODE ISLAND RED
My Mother kept the finest flock of Rhode Island Red chickens you could find anywhere. She claimed they were the best layers and the older ones made good baking hens and the younger ones made the best frying chickens you could find. She kept several dozen hens at all times but only one rooster. She claimed with two or more roosters in the same chicken flock there was a continuous fight and this cut back on their egg production. Anyway, Old Red, Mama’s pet rooster was happy!
Mama was proud of her rooster and I will have to say that he was a sight to behold. He had a big red flappy comb and it was always laid over the right side of his head almost blinding him in one eye. He had deep red tail feathers that arched up in the rear and then came back down to the ground. He had keen sharp spurs and he would strut around like he owned the place. Each step he took appeared as if he were pulling his foot free from a pile of sticky goo!
Old Red was one mean rooster and he would chase anyone or anything that got around his flock of chickens. He flogged the crap out of me several times.
My Father owned one of the best milk cows you could find anywhere, Old Jerse. He loved that old cow and treated her like a pet of some kind. She would respond to his voice and come mooing up to him when he called her at milking time.
Old Jerse didn’t like me either. Every time I tried to milk her she would either kick the crap out of me or send a pail of milk flying down the hill. I despised that old cow almost as much as I did that old rooster.
It was truly fitting that fate should dictate an interaction between Old Red and Old Jerse. It brought me satisfaction beyond my wildest dreams.
One summer it was dusty dry
And the sun shined every day.
The grass had all dried up and gone
And we’d used up all our hay.
We had an old brown Jersey cow
With a bell tied to her horn.
And to supplement her scanty diet
We fed her whole grain corn!
We had a big Rhode Island Red
That ruled our chicken flock.
He had keen long spurs and a floppy comb
A proud, high stepping cock!
You could hear his cock-a-doodle-do
At the burst of dawn, each morn,
When he’d check his private harem hens
And the go off and look for corn!
The lower pasture was enclosed
With a big, high, snake railed fence.
An occurrence happened here one day
That has never been topped since.
Now, I never saw the whole event
Or how it actually came about,
But it must have happened just this way
And to be there is no doubt.
Old Jerse was backed up to the fence
And she was busy snapping briars.
Old Red was perched upon the rail,
His feet like vise-gripped pliers.
I have to do some supposing here
And I think this is a fact,
A whole grain kernel must have passed
Through that cow’s digestive tract.
Old Red was right there on the spot.
He looked in and with a peck
Did not retract his head in time
And she caught him right around the neck
Old Jerse took off across the field.
Old Red struggled to be freed.
That horn bell was raising hell
And Old Jerse was gaining speed!
Red’s wings were flapping in the breeze.
His feet were scratching hide.
Old Jerse was bellowing every breath
As she gave Old Red a ride!
Red spread his wings as Old Jerse jumped;
They cleared a six foot rail.
Took off toward the Whinnlin Ridge
Raising dust along the trail!
Old Man Giles rode a dappled nag
And he delivered first class mail.
As Old Jerse passed, he reached out
And grabbed Old Red by the tail.
Old Jerse never slowed her pace
And the rooster gaped for air.
He got his breath and tried to crow
And then he spurred that mare!
The old mare bucked and turned about
And Old Red took to his wings.
He left his tail in the old man’s hand
And took off toward Pine Springs.
Old Giles fell from off her back,
He didn’t do too much harm.
He cracked three ribs and his collar bone
And fractured his left arm!
We found Old Jerse in Gandertown
And she went plumb bone dry.
She never gave a drop of milk
Since she got chicken shy.
Old Red came staggering home one day
All drabbled, worn and weak
And a grain of corn, ‘til the day he died
Did not pass through his beak!
Old Giles sold his bucking mare
And retired from carrying mail.
But he wore a feather in his hat
From that old red rooster’s tail.
He wore it every where he went
As a sign that it don’t pay
To stick your nose where it don’t belong.
You could loose your tail that way!
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