The Piddling Rooster!

Taken from memoirs - Just Another Ordinary Day!!!

Could you believe it? It rained here last night. Ah, how beautiful it was. A fine light show followed by thunderous applause, I slept like a baby the whole time. Damn, I'd been waiting for a night like this since Columbus first left Genoa (Oops, that was a different life). I knew I should have pitched a tent out back and waited for the rains but I assumed the weather man (an avowed practical joker on his off time) was just kidding when he was standing there before that big map of his and predicting to the camera, "Late tonight, I'm expecting a heavy downpour with lots of lightning and thunder and strong winds. We hadn't anything like that since, heck, I can't even remember when."


I awoke this morning, and sure as the meteorologist's newly polished crystal ball, the evidence was everywhere. Outside my door, newly formed wading pools and drinking troughs for the quail and doves and a kaleidoscopic array of color upon the pavement, I knew I'd missed the show. I took a walk down the street, admiring the sun-enhanced, rain-induced crystallization on every brush, every bush and every flowering bud. The corner house --freshly painted and smelling of spring -- brought out through its front door the old man with the rooster upon his head. I guess that's why you call those dang birds...roosters.


"Did you see all the lightning this morning, sonny?" he asks, his pet rooster pecking away on his thick brow. "And the thunder, hell, I thought I was back in Normandy. You know, sonny, the Second World War. Well, did you see it? Did ya hear it? Did ya, did ya, did ya, did ya . . . well, did ya, Sonny?"


"No, I didn't. I slept like a rock. Perhaps it was the Rock of Gibraltar," I say. He takes the rooster off his head and puts it upon his arm.


"A fine perch for my Ginger," he attests, his forced smile revealing a dentist's worst nightmare. "I'm sorry, sonny, but my memory ain't as good as it used to be, ya know, but have you met my Ginger before?"


My memory's probably not as good as used to be either but I don't believe I had been formally introduced to this bird before. Just saw him atop the old man's head in passing a few times and, oh yeah, heard him a few mornings, filling in for the neighborhood alarm clock. I extend my hand. The man extends his. Ginger bridges the gap and steps onto my arm. A chill runs down my spine, never before this day had I a rooster upon my arm.


"Whatcha think, Sonny?"


What do I think? Hmm, I think I have a rooster upon my arm. I think it's about to . . . eh, I was right. "Well," I say, "you have a fine bird but it just piddled on my arm."


"Just like the rain this morning that piddled on my cacti," the old man replies, laughing. "Well, sonny, I'll take Ginger off your hands if ya don't mind. I gotta go in the back and fix the sump pump."


I hand him back his Ginger. Immediately the bird crawls up his arm, hops on his shoulder and pecks at the old man's ear. "Now, now Ginger," the old man says, "you mustn't talk bad about our neighbors. I, too, think that young dude probably ain't up to no good - walking ‘round this neighborhood with his backward Chicago Bulls cap and his peace-sign tee-shirt and fake-gold wristwatch and his yellow legal pad and purple pencil. . .