THE CHICKEN SHOULD HAVE NEVER CROSSED THE ROAD

 THE CHICKEN SHOULD HAVE  NEVER CROSSED THE ROAD

Harry Bissoon  4/14/2021

Raising chickens, and ducks, was an integral part of my family structure. It was a well needed source of meat, to be consumed in delicious, mouth watering curries, stews, soups, and cook- up rice, and, of course, to have an ample supply of chicken eggs. My role in this structural food chain was tasked with feeding them, and to ensure that they had clean, well kept  coops.  

I was very enthusiastic in my youthful, energetic zeal, to care for them, to ensure that they were fattened, and in good health. A plentiful supply of food kept them content and restful, and the hens produced an ample supply of eggs. 

The ducks were hilarious! They were unstoppable poopers!  With every few, ambling steps, they pooped, not mindful where they left their wet, watery, mushy discharge. And it seemed as if they were happy about it! Their quackery, with wide open beaks looked as though they were smiling with me, cracking me up with laughter!

The chickens were equally funny, but in a different way. We had wooden boxes, packed with dry grass, in which the layers would lay eggs, and ladders for the non-layers to sleep on. After I had penned them, and was fully satisfied that they were asleep, I would hurriedly grab my kerosene hand lamp, and take a quick peek at them, to behold, what I thought, at that time, was an amazing stunt. They would be  fast asleep, eyes tightly closed, each one of them standing on one foot on the rung of the ladder! The other foot was neatly tucked away into the feathers of the bird! That always tickled me into a quiet chuckle.

 Roosters fight for territorial dominance over hens, and too many would create a chicken brawl, so, we only had three of them, and they had, by some method, clearly identified hens that belonged to their separate flocks. If a rooster strayed over to a another flock, a big pecking fight would ensue, wildly scattering feathers, in a dance of chicken championship. 

'Big Champ' was my favorite rooster. His feathers were colorful, with bright hues of red and black. His comb stood out as a giant crown on his head, in radiant red,while his large, equally radiant red wattle, under his chin, swayed with regal delight when he walked. Big Champ couldn't be stopped in a fight, and he freely stepped over into the other flocks of hens, with little, or no resistance. 

He was adventurous! He liked looking at passing trucks on the main road, bobbing his head up and down. One Sunday morning, after he had crowed vociferously, long before the sun rose, and after my parents had gone to church, Big Champ saw paddy grains falling from a passing truck that was transporting grains to the nearby rice factory. He gingerly maneuvered himself through an opening in the front fence, ran across the bridge, and began pecking at the grains at the edge of the road. He looked across the road, eyeing grains on the other side. He looked right, then left, and then he looked up and down. Without hesitation, he hastily dashed across the road, crossing over to the other side.

Bobby and James, who lived in the range house, directly across the road from us, saw Big Champ and lured him, with steamed rice grains, up their short flight of stairs, and then through their front door! The rooster that I had fattened was hesitant in gait but couldn't resist the trail of rice.

I saw it all, watching surreptitiously from behind glass windows. Bobby and James were my good friends and playmates, and I knew what was going to happen to Big Champ, as soon as he stepped through the door. That afternoon the smell of freshly made,  chicken cook - up rice wafted its way to my nostrils as I stood on the front bridge.

In the early evening my parents went around the neighborhood, asking everyone if they had seen Big Champ. They all said no!

I missed Big Champ for his pomp and glory, but took solace in the fact that he was going to be eaten some day.

I never disclosed to my parents what had transpired while they were at church. 

I spoke to Bobby today (we are in the USA) about Big Champ. Both of us laughed in reminiscence of Big Champ's misadventures on that fateful Sunday morning, 60 years ago, when Big Champ, the rooster, crossed the road.