It’s Gettin’ Up Time

I have always been an early riser. For my parents, the day began before sunup and that habit was ingrained in me. I consider early mornings the best part of the day. Dad’s favorite phrase to tell us that morning had come was, “It’s gettin’ up time.” When we lived on the farm, we were up before the old rooster crowed.  And that brings me to the subject of roosters.

Some roosters are docile, easy to get along with creatures who have two functions in life: procreation and heralds of a new day. Then there are other roosters who were hatched with a chip on their shoulders. They have an Attitude.

When I was very young, our family lived in a good, sturdy farmhouse which was blessed with all necessities but one–a bathroom. So when the need arose, we trotted to a small wooden structure way, way out back, appropriately called the outhouse. The path to the toilet lay through the chicken yard and in that yard lived a rooster who was mad at the world, particularly me. I’m convinced that he kept one eye on his harem and the other yellow, beady eye fixed on that path. When he saw me venture forth, he lowered his head so that it was in a straight line with his tail, fluffed out his neck and wing feathers and aimed that pointed beak right toward me.

That rooster could run. Hens scattered out of his way as he charged. But in those days, I could run too. No time to yell for help. It was a race to the outhouse and there’s nothing like a surge of adrenalin to add wings to feet. Once I was safely inside, the rooster strutted about, guarding the door. So there I stayed until Mom heard my calls for help. She would come armed with a broom and the rooster, who at least had sense enough to respect an adult with a weapon, would saunter off, telling the other chickens, I’m sure about his victory.

Today the only rooster crow I hear is the recorded one on an early news program. But that’s enough to bring memories of another rooster, other mornings, and the challenge he added to my life in the country.