The New Rooster
Part One - Wise and
Kindly
The Amish farmer awoke at
the crack of dawn, as was his usual habit, and said his morning prayers
to his clean-living God while still in his pajamas.
The Wise and Kindly Father
Shmolnick finished his prayers and quickly got dressed without disturbing
his woman-of-the-decade, who was still asleep. He quietly crept to his
kitchen and prepared a hot bowl of Amish Mush, spicing the tasty and
healthy goop with a bit of sugar and milk.
"Mm-mm, this be good
mush today," he thought, wiping the last bits of mush from his
gray but distinguished mustaches and beard.
Leaving the bowl and spoon
in the sink for the woman to clean, Father Shmolnick headed to the barn
for the morning chores. As usual, that damned rooster hadn't crowed
to announce the new day. Something must be done about that lazy bird.
The crisp autumn air was
exhilarating to the clean- living Amish farmer, who was always the first
person awake in the closed-knit little Amish community. The community
that Shmolnick had founded looked to the wise and kindly farmer for
all manner of guidance, including social, economic and political affairs.
The community had even given itself the name of its founder and leader,
Shmolnickville.
The tall handsome farmer
opened the barn doors and breathed in the fresh earthy scents of animal
dung and straw. "Aaahh, the Amish Gods provide all good things
to the faithful," he said happily.
At the far end of the barn,
the lacadaisical rooster was still asleep. Shmolnick reached for one
of the stout black whips hanging on the inside of the barn door and
headed purposefully for the back of the barn where the good- for-nothing
bird still slept.
"Stupid bird, today
be the day thou shalt learneth thy lesson!" he muttered, feeling
the smooth surface of the whip under his thick strong fingers.
Part Two - The Rooster's
Lesson
Vivo McBubble hung in the
back of the smelly barn by his wrists. The rough-hewn ropes, tied in
large obscene knots to a beam above, dug into his pale and pained wrists,
stretching his arms over his sweat- soaked head. He didn't know how
long he'd hung there; a day? a week? He'd forgotten.
He did remember coming to
this remote community of strange farmerfolk hoping to expand his sales
territory. He'd been the number one widget salesman for three years
running now and the only areas not yet in his expanding portfolio were
in this rural region. The boys back at the home office laughed when
he said he'd open the farmland to EGP Widgets, Inc. "McBubble,
you'll never sell any widgets there," they'd chided him.
But Vivo was persistent.
He never gave up, even when he started to hear the stories of old salesmen
mysteriously disappearing into the farmland. "What a crock!"
McBubble had told them all, "A bunch of old wives tales."
Oh how arrogant he'd been!
Now he heard footsteps approaching
him. He began to wake up, feeling the cold against his skin, which itched
from the feathers that had been crudely and roughly glued to him. His
bare feet barely touched the straw on the floor of the barn.
CRACK!!! The whip dug into
McBubble's back, waking him fully.
"Wake up lazy bird!"
shouted Farmer Shmolnick, brandishing the awful whip.
McBubble felt tears come
to his eyes from the sharp pain of the whip. He was supposed to do something
but had forgotten amidst the pain wracking his shoulders.
"Attention rooster,
I toldest thee to crow, now CROW DAMN thee!" The farmer was angry.
McBubble knew this was not good.
CRACK! CRACK!! CRACK!!
McBubble squeaked out a tiny
"cockadoodle doo" but it sounded muffled. It was hard to even
breathe with this fake beak affixed to his mouth.
"Thou shalt have to
do better than that, rooster," warned the farmer.
CRACK! CRACK! CRACKK!!
"Cockadoodle doo!"
yelped McBubble. His back was hurting him terribly now and the tears
flowed freely.
The farmer nodded his head
and stroked his beard. "Now THAT'S a little better, bird. Thou
shalt do well to remember that when the sun riseth on the morrow, lest
thee wanteth more of mine whip."
McBubble was sobbing. He
most definitely did NOT want more of the whip. He MUST try remember
to crow when the sun rose again. If only to avoid that horrible whip.
Father Shmolnick walked around
to the front of the dangling McBubble and pushed the handle of the whip
up into the underside of McBubble's chin, forcing the captive former
salesman's head up.
"Now, as a reminder
to thee and to punish thee for your sin of forgetting thy duty, thou
shalt get no feed today." The farmer released his new rooster's
head and turned to walk away. He began to whistle some tune as he turned
his attention to the other animals in the barn.
McBubble was panting and
sweating. "Must remember to crow, must remember to crow,"
he thought to himself desperately. He resigned himself to his new life
and began to sob.
