One evening last week I was on Waverly Place when I saw something ahead of me. Slowly, pensively, and thoughtfully, a live rooster paced in the middle of the road, surveying the land. One does not expect to see a live rooster wandering on Waverly, and, in truth, it scarcely wandered, but did not deviate much beyond the middle of the road and the centre of the block. A helpful passerby shooed it to the sidewalk when a car approached. It then paced in a gravid and considered manner a step or two here, a step or two there, staying in front of same the shopfront.
Occasionally it would venture back into the street.
Only to be herded back to the sidewalk.
Passers-by, you understand.
I observed for about forty five minutes. When you meet a rooster who is in danger of being run over, morally he becomes your responsibility.
Can't just leave him there, what if something happens?
Being apathetic is NOT the answer.
On the other hand ....
It's a bird.
Poop.
I also had plans for the evening, and it was unlikely that the cigar-bar would welcome a random rooster, even a very well-behaved one.
It's not like an argument could be made that it was a seeing-eye bird, necessary for a heretofore unannounced physical impairment.
Really, one just cannot walk into a bar with a rooster.
Surely the animal rights folks would object if the bird was exposed to pipe smoke (mine) and cigar smoke (all other patrons).
I intended to enjoy at least two pipe-fulls.
Aged Virginia with a touch of Burley.
This presented a quandary.
So I watched.
Several people did a double take. One or two started up with an 'eep!' Waverly Place is smack-dab in the middle of the largest concentration of Toishanese in the country, and one can safely assume that almost every one of the older people had seen live fowl back in the old country, as Toishan is a country district. But one does not normally expect to encounter a strutting cock on Waverly Place.
Other folks gave the bird a wide birth, or stopped and stared.
A young couple took several cell-phone photos.
One girl started taking selfies with it.
Obviously, I had more entertainment from the reactions that people had to Mr. Feathers than his mere dignified presence could ever give. Almost everybody was flabberghasted by encountering a calm though clearly baffled farmyard creature in the middle of Chinatown.
Probably a lucky runaway.
DOES ANYONE WANT THIS BIRD?
Finally a white guy came up, asked "does anybody want him", and when we all demurred, he scooped the bird up and tucked him comfortably into the crook of an arm. I complimented him on his new companion.
Some of us stroked it, before he took his charge back to his single-room occupancy hotel one block over. He did mentioned that he hoped the rooster wouldn't wake up his fellow-tenants every morning.
He would keep his drapes closed all day.
His folks owned a farm near Stockton, and he knows all about roosters. He'll make sure that it's happy and well-fed. And he's a vegetarian, so there's no reason to worry about 'that'.
Chickens can live a very long time.
It's a heavy responsibility.
About six pounds.
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9 comments:
Cluck!
This post isn't about Bob. I wish you would write more about Bob. I loved your posts that were about Bob.
P.S.: These chocolate-chip cookies are great.
ATBOTH, is this you?
Oh, a follow-up to my earlier question: If you desperately suck down a Salomon, inhaling as quickly and furiously as you possibly can, how long does it take?
Tayere e-kvetcher, no that's not me, but that looks like the Caffe Trieste, and that gentleman looks like he might be fussing with a pipe.
Way back in 1989 I was in the Caffe Trieste arguing politics with an Israeli. By the time we noticed the shaking, we also noticed all the other customers clusterfudging in front of the plate glass windows trying to get out of the door, with coffee cups in hand. We decided that the best place would be the bathrooms. I graciously allowed him first choice, and ended up in the womens room myself.
After it was over I headed back to the building where I lived and took a forty minute shower, depleting all the hot water. Last bath anyone in the building took for three days. And I feel good about that.
Zebra Chick,
Depends on the Salomon; some brands have bigger Salomons than others. The Davidoff would still take at least fifteen minutes, and smoked at that speed the amount of tobacco would leave you quite ill, with a mouth that felt like shoeleather, and a complete distaste for cigars for a day or two afterwards.
Look into the eyes of a chicken and you will see real stupidity. It is a kind of bottomless stupidity, a fiendish stupidity. They are the most horrifying, cannibalistic and nightmarish creatures in the world.
So maybe after I've done my 100-cigarette-packs Power Smoke, my next impressive feat should be a 100-Salomon smoke in 25 hours? People would come and watch, and play musical instruments and eat food while sitting in the sidelines, all having a good cheer.
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