[Notice the Friday trend.]
Anyway, the week has been fairly quiet, except for my day where I realized that anger in the heart can lead to no good. There I was, minding my own business, taking kids on tours of the barn, when the very colorful and pretty rooster that I had previously grown quite fond of, tried to attack me. Yes, it came for me. I felt it at my skirt hem. I saw it trying to get me. Word of caution: Don't turn your back on roosters. They may be small, but for some reason they think they can do damage to you. And in all reality they can. Well, this rooster made me really mad. How dare he try and get me when my back was turned? So the anger boiled. It boiled to the point where I had the pitch fork trying to shoo it away, and I thought, "I could actually kill this rooster with this pitch fork." And believe me, for a split second I seriously thought about it. Then reason returned (After all, our caretaker-the lover of all winged creatures-would never speak to me or help me out with anything again. Oh, and it may have upset some school kids to see a rooster stuck with the pitch fork). I then resorted to trying to kick it. You don't feel as bad when you merely kick a rooster, rather than kill it. Sadly, in the process of trying to kick the rooster, I hurt my foot again. [Note: This was the foot I injured playing broom hockey. Yes, I twisted my ankle playing a pretend sport. Now you see why I avoided organized team sports for my entire life.]
The moral of the rooster story: Anger doesn't pay.
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4 comments:
No, no, no. I think you missed the point entirely. I think the moral was: If you have to choose between kicking or impaling a rampant rooster, reach for the pitch fork.
Hahah. Nice one Jared. Anger does not pay. It only makes things worse, then you get more angry. It is a vicious circle that must be stopped. So next time just use the pitch fork and then there will be no more chances for the rooster to make you angry!
What is it with winged creatures? Last week as we were kindly feeding a few of them, a goose tried to eat my leg. It hurt. I had no pitch fork, only a terrified two year old in my arms, but my hate and anger for geese has hit its peak. I already disliked them. I think my duck feeding days have come to an end.
Roosters are mean. My family used to have one. It attacked my little brother!
We slaughtered it. The meat was tough.
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