Three Husbands and a Rooster
I heard two stories the other day, real-world ones, that made me think of new things. And that's worth something, I think. To break the groove of old thoughts.
I'll start with the rooster.
Sita will be going housesitting again toward the end of this month. This time she gets to play farm girl at a house with two goats, a miniature horse, some chickens, a few dogs, and rooster. She is so excited about this. She was telling me all about the goat with the helicopter ears, and the shy horse, and the Great Dane. But the rooster was the most fascinating.
When I think of roosters, I think...
1.) The cartoon Rock-a-Doodle, and that dude Chanticleer
2.) Cock fights in Regency Romance Novels
3.) Annoying dawn wake-up calls
4.) The color red
5.) The inevitable euphemisms
What I DON'T imagine, what I have NEVER imagined, what I could not have MADE UP is a rooster who, when given a chunk of watermelon, BREAKS IT UP WITH HIS BEAK, and then divvies it up amidst his hens. Who herds his hens towards any new bit of food in the yard, making sure they all eat. Who keeps away the hawks AND is a sweetheart AT THE SAME TIME!
It made me think of roosters - of the male animal of any given species, each fraught with its own set of expectations and prejudices - in a whole new light. I mean, WATERMELONS.
I also heard about a woman (a friend of Sita's) who has three husbands. Now, Sita has told me of these friends before. She met them in the SCA out west, and speaking of them always puts a soft light in her eye. One of the husbands recently suffered a massive heart attack and was hospitalized. Hearing about this on Facebook, his wife's friends asked if she was getting enough sleep in between hospital visits.
She replied that she was getting plenty, because she and her other two husbands were on twelve hour shifts. The invalid husband was never alone, and everyone got plenty of sleep. Sita practically started crying when she related this. She wants everyone to have love like this.
When I think of husbands, I think...
Oh, never mind what I think. I started my list and realized the instant word associations don't really bear repeating. Old grooves. Old thoughts. Not even ones I believe anymore. I can do better if I think about it.
But now when I think of husbands, I will think of the three of them and their wife too, somewhere out West in the desert, loving each other, living together. Keeping vigil.
***
I'll start with the rooster.
Sita will be going housesitting again toward the end of this month. This time she gets to play farm girl at a house with two goats, a miniature horse, some chickens, a few dogs, and rooster. She is so excited about this. She was telling me all about the goat with the helicopter ears, and the shy horse, and the Great Dane. But the rooster was the most fascinating.
When I think of roosters, I think...
1.) The cartoon Rock-a-Doodle, and that dude Chanticleer
2.) Cock fights in Regency Romance Novels
3.) Annoying dawn wake-up calls
4.) The color red
5.) The inevitable euphemisms
What I DON'T imagine, what I have NEVER imagined, what I could not have MADE UP is a rooster who, when given a chunk of watermelon, BREAKS IT UP WITH HIS BEAK, and then divvies it up amidst his hens. Who herds his hens towards any new bit of food in the yard, making sure they all eat. Who keeps away the hawks AND is a sweetheart AT THE SAME TIME!
It made me think of roosters - of the male animal of any given species, each fraught with its own set of expectations and prejudices - in a whole new light. I mean, WATERMELONS.
I also heard about a woman (a friend of Sita's) who has three husbands. Now, Sita has told me of these friends before. She met them in the SCA out west, and speaking of them always puts a soft light in her eye. One of the husbands recently suffered a massive heart attack and was hospitalized. Hearing about this on Facebook, his wife's friends asked if she was getting enough sleep in between hospital visits.
She replied that she was getting plenty, because she and her other two husbands were on twelve hour shifts. The invalid husband was never alone, and everyone got plenty of sleep. Sita practically started crying when she related this. She wants everyone to have love like this.
When I think of husbands, I think...
Oh, never mind what I think. I started my list and realized the instant word associations don't really bear repeating. Old grooves. Old thoughts. Not even ones I believe anymore. I can do better if I think about it.
But now when I think of husbands, I will think of the three of them and their wife too, somewhere out West in the desert, loving each other, living together. Keeping vigil.
***