Even though Wiarton Willy, the white woolly ground hog weather predictor’s sleepy eyes, did or did not, see his shadow, he has blinkingly suggested we’ll still be getting six more weeks of winter weather.
I really no longer care. I know it and you know it that each yesterday that passes puts today one day closer to spring. Whoopee!
I don’t know yet whether the grapevine tattle has tangled your way or not, but the fact is, I raised my hand to scratch my sleepy head a few weeks back at the annual meeting of the Saugeen Valley Fur and Feather Fanciers’ Association.
Apparently someone had spit out nominations for vice president, and when the gavel whacked down, snapping me a little more awake, I found out that it was I who was it.
Not in the habit of crying over spilt milk, I placed in position, next to my grin-bin, one similarly marked, “Fur and Feather,” and low and behold, up came the first and only item that I found deep within.
Seeing as the weather has been dull and dreary and I a little perturbed and weary, I think it is time to unbuckle a chuckle. Perhaps I should have said unshackle a cackle in sync with the raised hackles of my show bantams. Here it is, as I read it, verbatim adjusted only slightly.
Old Butch
George Wicke was in the fertilized hatching egg business. He had several hundred young “pullets”, and ten roosters to fertilize the eggs.
He kept records, and any rooster not performing went into the soup pot and was replaced.
This took a lot of time, so he bought some tiny bells and attached them to his roosters.
Each bell had a different tone, so he could tell from a distance, which rooster was performing.
Now he could sit on the porch and fill out an efficiency report by just listening to the bells.
George’s favourite rooster, old Butch, was a very fine specimen, but this morning he noticed old Butch’s bell hadn’t rung at all.
When he went to investigate, he saw the other roosters were busy chasing pullets, bells-a-ringing, but the pullets, hearing the roosters coming, would run for cover.
To George’s amazement, old Butch had his bell in his beak, so it couldn’t ring. He would sneak up to a pullet, do his job and casually walk on to the next one.
George was so proud of old Butch, he entered him in the Chatsworth Fall Fair, just south of Owen Sound, and he became an overnight sensation among judges and fair-goers alike.
The result was the rooster was so popular the judges not only awarded old Butch the “No Bell Piece Prize” but granted as well the “Pulletsurprize.”
So there you have it folks. I have a newly acquired gold laced cochin rooster, which I call “Tex” ‘cause he came indirectly from Texas. I needed a new blood line to breed with mine and he seems just as smart as George’s old Butch, so I’m going to talk him into running for parliament. I feel his tactics would equal that which is going on up there in Ottawa. Am I thinking wrong?
You know, and I know, that I’m hitting the nail smack-dab on the head!
Take care, ‘cause we care,
barrie@barriehopkins.ca
519-986-4105