My feet were up in the hammock, fan on full speed, coffee on my coffee table and book in hand. Music hummed quietly in the background and my eyes were softly drifting into oblivion. It was a perfectly relaxing ending to an exhausting day.
It was then that I heard the undeniable buya that came next. The gawking of a rooster in panic and the gnarling of 3 mangy dogs (wait, 2 mangy dogs- 1 was my Vaquito). The rooster screamed, “Holy Sh*********t, wa-baaaaaalk, SH********TTTTTTTTT, balk, balk, balk, AYUUUUDAMEEE!!!!” …as 3 perros pranced around the yard after their prey.
I dropped my book on the floor, poured my coffee on my lap, Jackie Chan-rolled out of the hammock, landing swiftly on my feet in fighting position and screamed “Vaquito NOOOOOOOOOOO!”
As fate would have it, in the very moment I reached my door, broom in hand, the rooster and the siguiendo clan of dogs came crashing into the puerta. Now, I love animals, but I wasn’t about to risk having a bloody massacre in my own “living room”, so do not think for a second I considered opening that door to those little furry warriors. Fortunately, my door opens in 2 parts, allowing me to only open the part above, leaving a barrier to keep the outside world out. And so, leaning over the bottom-half of the door, I frantically began beating the $h*t out of the perros. The broom was only partially effective in scaring away the dogs (or maybe it was my gentle nature), but at least I was buying time. I guess the rooster never learned that it’s best to remain calm in trying situations because he flapped and feathered a storm that obstructed my vision as I did my best to salvage (at least a few more weeks of) his life.
Just as Vaquito had the rooster by the back of his neck, his mara of perros urging him on from behind, my little neighbor showed up and swept the rooster up into his arms. I straightened myself out, as I was still doubled over the door, wiped the hair out of my face and plucked the feathers from my eyes. I retracted my broom and let out a deep sigh, as I tried to determine if David was looking at me, (rooster cradled in arms), with confused disgust or quiet, but grateful admiration. “Will he live?” I asked. “Maybe” replied David.
Later that evening, Marjori thanked me for saving her rooster. She told me that that rooster was the son of a chicken she had received as a birthday present last year, and so, inherently it was her own. I think back to the “Secret Santa” game we played at home for Christmas. As a joke, I had given a machete…but I’m starting to realize a live chicken would have made for a much better gift…
hey jaimmmmmm
ReplyDeletehahhaha that was a funny story. you had to pluck feathers out of your eyes? owwww.
oh yeah guess what?? so i was getting my nails done on friday with nancy and caroline and sitting next to me was Mrs Lynch. so i was talking to her for a little. and she asked about you, and said how she wants to try and get you home for christmas!! :) (maybe vaquito can come too?!??!) ;] so yeah we were talking and i almost called Maddy Isabella for some reason. i dont know why. but then i thought about it before i said something, and i was like ughh what is her name again?! then i was like, oh, MADDY! ahhaha so yeah...and i was going to say something else but now i forget. oh well. itll come back to me! call me sooon!