There once was a rooster. He was good rooster. I wrote a story about him, and though we don’t see him any more, we still hear the calls of his descendants in the woods.

A Rooster’s Tale

Several years ago, my wife and I moved to the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains in western North Carolina. The variety of wildlife that visits our back yard has been a constant source of excitement and intrigue. Still, I was surprised and a bit skeptical when my wife told me that she had seen a chicken in the driveway.

I laughed and told her that it was probably a wild turkey or pheasant, but as it turns out, she was right. A poor bedraggled soul of a chicken sought refuge in the tranquility of our back yard. He was shy at first and would run away whenever we emerged from the house, but over time he became friendly–I suspect it had something to do with the corn and fresh water we produced.

We didn’t want to become too attached to our new feathered-friend, and we simply referred to him as “Chick Chick”. Quite imaginative, eh?

It was a pleasant and amusing surprise when Chick Chick decided to stay with us for the winter. He spent much of his time on our back porch, sleeping on the welcome mat–much to the chagrin of our two indoor cats. He would even tap on the glass door with his beak when we were late delivering his breakfast; this was later replaced by his clarion call from our welcome mat.

One day, in early spring, I noticed something running around the yard. I looked out to see one of the neighborhood cats chasing Chick Chick. I shooed the cat gently from the yard and stood for a moment enjoying the day. Chick Chick wandered around aimlessly, and all seemed well. A moment later, though, a large red-tailed hawk swooped through the air, barely missing its prey–Chick Chick. The hawk perched in a nearby tree, and I shooed it away as well. Chick Chick cowered behind me and followed me as I walked. I couldn’t blame him; it had been a rough day.

Chick Chick became part of our daily lives and never ceased to entertain us, and it surprised us both that we could enjoy his company so much. His place in our lives became even more apparent when he disappeared. No note, no long goodbyes, he was just plain gone.

After several weeks, we began to give up the hope that our beloved Chick Chick would ever return. I tried to convince my wife that he had run off with the circus, or that maybe he had found himself a hen. Despite her characteristic optimism, she feared the worst, and we shared a moment of silence in Chick Chick’s memory.

When three months had passed, I no longer looked for Chick Chick in the woods, nor did I expect to see him when I walked by the door. I was startled when I noticed several large, dark shapes darting around the yard. At first, I could not tell what kind of creatures they were, but then I got a better look. They were baby chickens–five of them. I thought for a moment that a local farm must have had an escape, but then I saw something that brought tears to my eyes–Chick Chick!

I couldn’t believe what I was seeing, and I wasn’t absolutely certain that this chicken was THE chicken, so I ran into the garage and grabbed a cup of corn. When I shook the cup and called for him, Chick Chick came a running, clucking happily all the way. It was a joyous reunion, and I was thrilled to give my wife the good news.

Chick Chick and his hen bring the family by for some corn and fresh water just about every day; each visit warms our hearts and lightens our souls. It is nice to realize that sometimes those silly things we tell ourselves when faced with grim possibilities, can actually be true.