This is it. The beginning of the end. My husband may have actualy snapped this time. He’s seriously channeling Jack Nicholson in the Shining. Either that or Elmer Fudd in just about every cartoon Elmer Fudd has starred.
It’s true. I’m either married to a psychopath or a cartoon character.
He was spotted this morning, actually stalking the rooster, alternately wielding several different weapons. First he carried a very large stick…then a 2x4. Both of which he’d planned to use to bludgeon the poor rooster to death. Finally, a large kitchen knife, which he was apparently going to use to stab him repeatedly, a la Norman Bates. Who does this? Who creeps around the house in the early morning light brandishing blunt (or sharp) objects with the intent of using them on unsuspecting roosters? It’s more than just a little bit scary, if you ask me.
He even put a damn bounty on the bird’s head. Cash for his capture, he called it. The kids turned him down flat. They want no part in this sick melodrama, where our little rooster plays the part of the victim.
Tonight he captured poor Clooney and locked him in the pen. The little cock is apparently on death row until dawn, when he will likely meet his fate. Unless the husband oversleeps. Or the rooster escapes. I haven’t decided yet whether or not to sneak through the yard in the dark to rescue him. I know I should, just because I’d miss his morning crows…and his afternoon crows…possibly even his middle of the night crows. But damn it if the back yard isn’t really scary at night. Hey, I’m just thinking self-preservation here. I told you if it came down to him or me, he was going in a pot.
But, I haven’t given up the possibility of a last minute pardon. He’s not dead yet, after all.
Until the next time…I’ll be waiting for the axe to fall.