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Updated on Wednesday*:
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One night, we went to the stock sale in Spencer. Danny
had decided to bid on a crate with a hen and rooster. Thus, Riffle and
Betty came to be. Even though we didn’t know at the time what type of
rooster Riffle was, we knew he was going to be a keeper. His demeanor
and stature put me to mind of a cartoon Englishman. I could imagine
Riffle saying, “Pip-pip, and jolly good man.”
Riffy or Riff-meister, as I call him, is such a sweet
rooster. He likes to follow you around the yard and eat out of your
hand. A friend, Lisa Hall, has offered Levi $20 for Riffle. (I told you
he was a cutie! Well, as cute as chickens come, I mean.)
Riffle struts around the yard like he is the boss, and
if another rooster gets near Betty or another one of his lady friends,
he chases them to the other side of the yard.
One time, when my mom came up
to see Levi’s new rooster, we showed her how gentle
he
was.
We
failed
tomention
to her that he follows you around. While walking away from Riffle, and
out of the corner of her eye, my mom saw him behind her and she started
running and hollering, and thought he was going to flog her. That was
priceless.
When Levi has his buddy Jared over, the two of them will
torment me and tell me they will put Riffle in with one of his game
cocks. The two of them love to ruffle my feathers.
In the evening, when it is time to roost, I holler for
Riffy and tell him it is time for bed. He follows me to the coop and
hops right in. Sometimes, I don’t get outside early enough for Riffle,
and he decides that he wants to roost on the side of our pool. I know
that I could just pick him up and carry him to the coop, but I am not
much of a chicken picker upper. Eventually, I make Levi grab him and put
him to roost.
Fear not, oh faithful readers, Riffle will never be an
ingredient in my chicken soup!
Next week: Doggie door critters.
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This Week's Editorial:By Helen Morris:
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