Rooster Redux
by Jerry Guarino
My readers may remember Coq
a Doodle Do, the tale of a rooster who tormented
a couple and was allegedly found killed by a
coyote in a Northern California winery. This is
the story of revenge by that rooster’s
friends and relative who tracked down the couple.
It’s not a pretty story, but it needs to be
told.
‘Vive la France’.
Barbara rolled out the pastry in preparation for
making coquettes. Since the departure of the
rooster, Barbara and Joe had become quite the
Francophiles. They took French cooking classes,
bought French fashion clothing and even started
to learn the language with one of the home
computer courses in preparation for a vacation
they had planned in the summer. Little did they
know what fate had planned for the loving couple.
Peering over the hill
behind their house was Jacques, the bother of the
rooster that Jim had so heartlessly sent to his
death by a coyote in the vineyard just six months
ago. It took Jacques that long to track down Joe
and Barbara, well, because he is a rooster, after
all and not able to use the Internet, modern
transportation or investigative services like
Roger Rabbit had access to. Jacques was the most
infamous criminal rooster in all of France,
having committed many thefts, burglaries and
kitchen atrocities.
Next to Jacques was his
friend Astor (the hawk), Papillion (the getaway
expert), Marcel (the silent one), Horace (with
the best eyesight) and finally his girlfriend
Marielle, the obstinate rebel and perhaps the
most devious of the bunch.
“What do you see?”
Jacques asked Horace. “The woman is in the
kitchen and the man is trying to paint one of
those by number pictures; it looks like a bad
romantic view of the Eiffel tower, a café and
couples staring at each other. “Hmm. Just
what I thought.” Marcel hopped up and down
with panicked gestures. “Yes, Marcel, what
is it?” Marcel used his facial expression (not
easy for a rooster), his wings and feet to mime
out a man shooting a gun.” Jacques nodded.
“OK, Horace, keep an eye out for any weapons.
Papillion, start working on a getaway plan.”
Papillion winked and said “right boss, we’ll
fly like eagles once the hammer is dropped.”
Astor, with the pronounced beak, added. “We
only have tonight’s full moon, so let’s
go over the plan and get into position.”
Jacques nodded. “Marielle, you’re up
first.”
Marielle snuck down to the
house, waited for Barbara to leave the kitchen,
then went to work. She added the wrong spices to
the coquettes, over-fried the fish and added
snails to the salad, and then wrote rude remarks
in mustard on the wall. ‘We know you
killed Coq, the gifted math rooster from Lyon.
The only thing he ever hurt was the feelings of
calculus students at the Sorbonne’. (Marielle
was famous for her lengthy death threats, so she
had to use all of the Dijon mustard and half a
container of French’s yellow mustard)
Having ruined the dinner,
Joe and Barbara decided to retire early. One
benefit that they both had with their new French
conversion was in the bedroom. Watching lots of
French films had helped them refine their
lovemaking. With Satie playing on the iPhone, Joe
and Barbara caressed each other with passion and
gentility. Then it happened. The first crow!
Astor had positioned himself just outside their
window and let loose with the loudest, most
disturbing interruption to their activity at the
most inopportune time. “Oh Joe. He’s
back,” shrieked Barbara. Joe rushed out of
bed and went outside on the deck adjoining the
bedroom, armed with the garden hose. “Where
are you, you French fry?”
But Astor was playing
possum, waiting for Joe to return to the bedroom.
Minutes later, again in the midst of passion,
Astor let out more crows. Joe had anticipated
screams that night but not from roosters. Barbara
was visibly shaken. Joe returned to the back deck,
this time with his BB-gun. Astor lay in wait,
chuckling quietly. On the other side of the
bedroom was Horace. Then after Joe returned to
bed, they listened for the sounds of love. Just
when Barbara was about to give in to Joe, both
Astor and Horace alternated crows as loud as they
could. Joe came out firing his gun, first to the
left and then to the right. It didn’t seem
possible that two roosters were tormenting them.
“How did they find us?” he thought.
Meanwhile, Marielle had
snuck back into the house and hid in the closet.
Astor and Horace dropped back in retreat. An hour
went by. Joe and Barbara finally felt calm again.
Unable to sleep, they decided to give passion one
more chance. Marielle waited for just the right
moment, and then let out the loudest crow she
could. Joe grabbed his gun and shot into the
closet, barely missing the hen, which ran out the
front of the house and met up with the others.
“Oh Joe, what have you done?” Barbara
opened her closet to find her new French wardrobe
ruined. Even Joe’s beret was in pieces.
Joe and Barbara gave up
their love with all things French, had to go to
therapy to get over the incident and canceled
their trip to Paris.
Papillion got everyone into
the back of a truck, under the hay, just in time
before the driver came out and left. Marcel was
frantically jumping up and down trying to get the
other’s attention. “Calm down Marcel,
we’re safe now; this truck is going out to a
farm where we can hide.” Marcel gave up,
folded his wings and sat with a disconcerted
expression. As the truck pulled onto the highway,
you could tell that the roosters had had their
revenge. The sign on the side of the truck said
it all. ‘PETER’S POULTRY PROCESSING’.
|
