If you liked the picture your imagination conjured up when you thought of me racing up a hill dragging Clayton by the arm...
It was actually like Dejavu for me.
Two years ago when I was about eight months pregnant with Carolina, I let Olivia (then 18 months old and not yet a sturdy self-defending toddler) play out front of the house with her brothers and big sister.
I was working in my kitchen not ten yards away from the open front door and my baby, and yet it was a close call.
We had a rooster. Beloved by all and bequeathed with the fitting moniker of Fancy Pants.
While it is true that we loved Fancy, it is also true that he was the cockiest of roosters, picking fights primarily among the innocent and unsuspecting. He preferred to assert his ruffled indignation upon a child or the turned back of a grown man which showed some amount of cowardliness, an attribute I was never impressed by.
It seemed to me we had an understanding with one another. Something to the effect of "you know who has the power to send you to the ol' stew pot buddy, and don't you ever forget it!"
In the course of his time with us, the venerable Fancy Pants drew blood from every one of my children (and more than a few guests to the farm), but was the one primarily responsible for the chivalrous bravery of my two sons - valiant they have indeed become in protecting and defending their sisters!
On that fateful day, I heard screams and looked up from my work in the kitchen to see my baby Olie on her back with an arrogant chicken hopping around her!
In one bound this barefoot, pregnant woman leaped to the aid of her daughter shouting and kicking at him (with those bare feet, mind you) with one thought in her mind "Please Lord! Please not her eyes!"
And thankfully, ever so thankfully I scooped her up with both eyes unharmed, even though blood trickled from her temple in two places.
These little episodes in my life reminde me that one should not underestimate the speed and agility of a barefoot pregnant lady, AND that bee stings are relatively small potatoes in the scheme of things.
Anyway...
My berry pickers:
5 comments:
alas what became of that rooster that you HAD?
LOL! You have quite a way of putting hilarious pictures in the minds of your audience.
He was an accepted part of the family - even if no one turned their back to him;-P
He stuck around the farm even after we left for Colorado and were gone some months.
Rumor has it that Fancy put one of his spurs (you know, that long sharp spike on the back of a rooster's leg?) into our neighbors shin, and I suspect that to be the last deed Fancy had chance to perform.
When we sold that farm, the boys went home to move our stuff and could find no sign of our friend the cocky rooster.
Can you believe we actually felt bad about not seeing him again? As many threats as he got...
Alas, I found a tin rooster that resembles Fancy, and he has been immortalized in a picture or two and several dozen real good stories!
The memories of him give us all a great chuckle:-P
barefoot and in the kitchen is the best place to be hey?
hehe
I'm afraid I would have sharpened the axe after that one!
Believe me!
The thought was not far from my mind. It's a good thing that chicken made himself scarce!
Hmm... Yes. Barefoot in the kitchen.
And pregnant is even better;-)
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