Queen Mother of the Barn Yard.

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
This is a story about a young girl and her love for a rooster she named Krispy

Submitted: March 19, 2008

A A A | A A A

Submitted: March 19, 2008





Alford Dyson Jr.

She has the strength and determination of strong women in her blood and the smile, charm and way with animals of her dad, surely a deadly combination for any unsuspecting rooster. A handsome rooster, known as Krispy. She is Kylie, my grand daughter.

Kylie fell in love with Krispy, when he was a 2 oz. ball of yellow fluff. Krispy arrived with the other bantam chicks and his mother just before dark one day. He was part of a small flock that her dad brought home from a job site.

Krispy grew into a large bantam rooster whose tail gleamed in the sunlight, particularly at 5:15 in the morning when the sun peeked through the tall white pines just outside her bedroom window. The greens and blues that tipped the long feathers that swept back over his majestic tail were particularly brilliant.

As Krispy grew from a chick into the dominant rooster in the barnyard, Kylie began to work her magic. Every Thursday and Friday, we raced home from school to be with Krispy. Nothing else mattered to Kylie, Krispy needed her. From time to time, Kylie announced, ‘You know Pop pop, I am Krispy’s mom.’ ‘He needs me to hold him.’

While I love Kylie, I learned to fear Krispy. As we approached the barnyard from the safety of my truck each day, both Kylie and I scanned the yard for Krispy, Kylie with love in her heart, me, with fear running through my veins. Because there are child locks on the back doors of my truck, I was forced to get out to let Kylie out to work her magic. When Kylie gave me the OK, I would jump from the truck and opened her door. If I were quick, Kylie would get between Krispy and me and take charge of the situation. If I were clumsy, Krispy would lower his head, beat his wings wildly and make a bee-line for my head. I would scream, cover my head and eyes while attempting to get Kylie’s door open.

Kylie was on a mission, her mission was to capture Krispy, sit in her chair with Krispy on her lap while ordering me to do things any mother would do to comfort her young: ‘bring a large towel, a fluffy one Pop Pop, while making it clear, ‘no photos Pop pop until he closes his eyes.”

I would run into the house while Kylie would do her best to distract Krispy. Quickly, I would gather Krispy’s favorite towel, snacks for Kylie and me and head outside cautiously. No matter how many times I witnessed her pursuit and capture of Krispy, it always amazed me.

In a calm voice, Kylie would begin her pursuit. ‘Now Krispy, you know I am your mother and I will do anything to keep you safe and warm. I just want to hold you on my lap for a while, pet you, and tell you how pretty you. I will be keeping you safe in a big fluffy towel.” Kylie would walk slowly towards him as he made is way back to the hens he loved. Every now and then, he would let a couple of other roosters know he was in charge by flying at them with talons out stretched. In a matter of minuets, Krispy would stop walking with the hens, crouch on the ground and allow himself to be picked up.

Kylie, with Krispy in cradled in her arms, would head towards the straight-backed lawn chair. As soon as she settled in, I approached them. I would hand Kylie the towel and back away quietly. Kylie would wrap Krispy, talk to him quietly while stroking him. ‘Krispy, I really love you, you are my friend, just lay your head down, you will feel better when you wake up.’

It did not take long for Krispy to settle in and close his eyes. While watching carefully, I frequently took photos of these two lovers. They would snuggle in for a 15 to 20 minuet nap together. If Krispy made the slightest movement, I would get a stern warning. ‘Pop pop, stop, can’t you see the flash and the clicking make it difficult for Krispy to settle down--no more, please.’

These special afternoons went on for about a year. In early spring of the next year, Kylie informed me that Krispy was the father of all of ‘Hennie’s chicks.’ As the chicks grew, it was obvious, given the coloring of the chicks; Krispy indeed was the proud dad.

One night, as we neared the end of our dinner, Kylie screamed and pointed. I jumped up and looked out the widow just as a beautiful red fox leapt in the air and caught Hennie in his jaws. Hennie’s chicks scattered while Krispy flew to the top of the coop.

We went flying out the rear door to look for Hennie. Kylie was hysterical, her favorite mom was gone. Snow on the ground was deep enough that the fox’s tracks were clearly visible at the edge of the woods. Kylie followed the tracks into the woods as she screamed for the fox to drop Henny. Within a short time, we found Hennie, gasping for air about 50 ft. from the hen house. Hennie was alive, but barely. I picked her up and carried her back to our yard. Kylie’s dad came home at this point and comforted Kylie. A short time later, Hennie stopped moving and Kylie burst into tears.

Kylie insisted on a proper burial. Ed and I dug a hole to bury Hennie while Kylie made a cross for Hennie’s grave. Krispy now stood silent on the top of the coop scanning the woods anxiously. It was a near miss for him; the next time might be different.

A few months later, Krispy’s bright green and blue feathers were scattered about the barnyard, the work of coyotes. Kylie vowed not to give her heart to another bird.

Edda dyson, editor



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