It all started during my childhood. Once or twice a month Momma, Daddy, and I motored to Newton County for Sunday dinner with the family. My Harrison grandparents had a farm. On the farm were cows, horses, hogs, chickens, and “that” rooster. I believe he was a Rhode Island Red, but what I really remember is the terror he brought to my heart. I mean all of my cousins would be out and about on the farm – we always played until the meal was ready. There I was – just one of the young’ens, and BAM, that rooster was in my face. He chased me all over the place – caught me a couple of times with a vicious peck, peck, peck. I ran and ran and ran – finally reached the backdoor that entered the kitchen. Momma, my aunts, and grandmother jumped with a start when I screamed through the screen door. They knew it was “that” rooster.

Yep, I was fated to be unlucky with roosters.

It was much later that I encountered Foghorn Leghorn, a Rhode Island Red cartoon character. I needed to know more – so, I researched him at the Wikipedia link (http://en.wikipedia.org). At first I was certain that Foghorn Leghorn was the villain of the story, but I was wrong. I took a second look and there he was with a gentle spirit and a southern accent. Hmm, I thought, maybe there are some nice roosters after all. I paid close attention to his “good ole boy” demeanor. His character was created in 1946 and you may catch him even today on some television networks. He and another cartoon character, Barnyard Dawg, hang out together and generally tend to everyone’s business. Foghorn Leghorn is quiet a vocalist humming “Camptown Races.” His deep southern voice is especially clear with the “Doo-Dahs.” Oh, and he is most popular with his lady friends – the hens.

So, as a child, I studied Foghorn Leghorn and tried to compare his charm and delightfulness with “that” rooster. It just wasn’t calculating. The barnyard rooster possessed an “evil eye.” His head jerk was polarizing, and his beak, well; it could have been a weapon of mass destruction in my estimation. I had acquired a phobia in the form of a Rhode Island Red.

With feathers, beaks, and jerking heads on my mind, I began to think of “that rooster” as the poor little rooster. Maybe back in those days on the farm, he thought of me as someone who could help him. Perhaps he needed someone who could commiserate with him – you know just talk it out. That was a weird way to try to get my attention, though.

I’m not certain what became of him. As I grew older, I avoided the barnyard. I may have missed a huge opportunity to have a real rooster friend. Who knows? But at that time, I had decided that I had never met a rooster that liked me.

Old Rhode Island Red of my childhood – I hope you lived a long and happy life.

Anne McKee is a Mississippi inspired storyteller. www.annemckeestoryteller.com