Cocky, the Most Dangerous Rooster in Spain
Part 1
'I told you -- NO MORE CHICKENS!'
I was on my hands and knees laying floor tiles. Joe returned from collecting eggs in the orchard. “We’re really low on grain,” he said. “We’ll have to go down to the chicken shop and get some more.”
“Well, you’ll have to go by yourself, I’ve only just made up all this tile cement.”
I was so deeply absorbed with my project that it wasn’t until some time later that a thought occurred to me. I had forgotten Joe is the most impulsive shopper I have ever known
. Send him out for a carton of milk and he comes back with a crate of milk, beer, chocolate biscuits, a set of glasses and a cuddly toy. He loves buying things so it may have been a serious mistake sending him to the chicken shop alone.
I stripped off my rubber gloves quickly and grabbed the mobile phone.
“How r u getting on? Don’t buy any more chickens!” I texted.
“Am on way home. Everything fine. C u soon,” came the return text.
I wasn’t fooled. “NO MORE CHICKENS! No space in new coop.” I stabbed the keys as fast as I could.
“Ok, don’t worry. Xxx”
But I did worry. I cleared up my tiling mess, admired my handiwork and waited for Joe. I climbed the staircase to the roof terrace and watched for the returning jeep coming down the mountain into the village. At last it appeared and I shot outside to meet him.
Three large sacks of grain shared the back of the jeep with an ominous looking cardboard box.
“How did you get on with the tiling?” Joe asked, lifting out the box nonchalantly.
“Never mind the tiling. What’s in the box? Please don’t tell me you bought any more chickens…”
“No, I didn’t. Honestly. I promise I didn’t get any more chickens.” But Joe’s eyes refused to meet mine.
And then the box crowed.
“You’re joking! You didn’t buy a cock, did you? Tell me you haven’t come back with a cockerel.” I found my hands were on my hips in typical fishwife pose.
Joe looked a little rueful, then went on the defensive. “I couldn’t resist him. He’s very small, only a bantam. He was in a cage all by himself and he was crowing so…” The rest of his speech was drowned out by more crowing.
“But we discussed this! We agreed we didn’t want any more chickens, especially not a cock! It said on the Internet cocks can be aggressive, and we haven’t got the space!” I could hear the whine in my own voice.
“He won’t be aggressive,” said Joe. “He’s very small.”
Joe carried the box to the orchard, I pulled open the gate, and we stepped inside. As usual, the girls crowded to meet us. They eyed the box suspiciously. Joe set it down on the ground, pulled back the cardboard flaps and lifted out the newcomer. I couldn't help it, I gasped.
I stripped off my rubber gloves quickly and grabbed the mobile phone.
“How r u getting on? Don’t buy any more chickens!” I texted.
“Am on way home. Everything fine. C u soon,” came the return text.
I wasn’t fooled. “NO MORE CHICKENS! No space in new coop.” I stabbed the keys as fast as I could.
“Ok, don’t worry. Xxx”
But I did worry. I cleared up my tiling mess, admired my handiwork and waited for Joe. I climbed the staircase to the roof terrace and watched for the returning jeep coming down the mountain into the village. At last it appeared and I shot outside to meet him.
Three large sacks of grain shared the back of the jeep with an ominous looking cardboard box.
“How did you get on with the tiling?” Joe asked, lifting out the box nonchalantly.
“Never mind the tiling. What’s in the box? Please don’t tell me you bought any more chickens…”
“No, I didn’t. Honestly. I promise I didn’t get any more chickens.” But Joe’s eyes refused to meet mine.
And then the box crowed.
“You’re joking! You didn’t buy a cock, did you? Tell me you haven’t come back with a cockerel.” I found my hands were on my hips in typical fishwife pose.
Joe looked a little rueful, then went on the defensive. “I couldn’t resist him. He’s very small, only a bantam. He was in a cage all by himself and he was crowing so…” The rest of his speech was drowned out by more crowing.
“But we discussed this! We agreed we didn’t want any more chickens, especially not a cock! It said on the Internet cocks can be aggressive, and we haven’t got the space!” I could hear the whine in my own voice.
“He won’t be aggressive,” said Joe. “He’s very small.”
Joe carried the box to the orchard, I pulled open the gate, and we stepped inside. As usual, the girls crowded to meet us. They eyed the box suspiciously. Joe set it down on the ground, pulled back the cardboard flaps and lifted out the newcomer. I couldn't help it, I gasped.
To be continued...
If you are enjoying this story, please let me know and I'll paste up the next part.
Victoria
Chickens, Mules and Two Old Fools - Now available on Amazon
Enter the FREE prize draw to win a signed copy of 'Chickens, Mules and Two Old Fools' on the website.
