The rooster is free.
Or perhaps, on the run is a better way to put it. The rooster is on the run. All day long I tried to convince the kids to set him free. Set him free so he can live to crow another day. And all day long, they spouted off reasons why their lives were more important than his…how it would be a veritable suicide mission to set him free. In other words, my husband would kill them.
Ok, so kill is a gross exaggeration. He would be greatly annoyed at them, and none of them were willing to risk his possible wrath.
Enter the wife.
Yeah, I know…I said if it came down to me or the bird, the bird would be toast. And if my husband had been home yesterday, I would probably be telling a completely different tale. But he wasn’t home. So he has no idea how exactly the rooster escaped his cell.
And for the record…I. Know. Nothing.
Off the record…I might know something, but for now, I’m not talking. It’s safer that way. For all of us.
Until the next time…I’ll be listening to the soothing tones of the resident rooster.