My friend Ruth asked what finally happened to the roosters, so here’s their story:
When we first took the roosters in, people asked, “Why can’t you keep them?”
I even had someone tell me to keep them because ‘they’re fun.’ I couldn’t smell alcohol on her breath but then I remembered you can’t smell hallucinogens.
Roosters? Fun? Sure, why not, if you like big birds waking you up at dawn, slashing at you with their spurs, and trying to peck your eyes out, they are a barrel of laughs.
Even if I wanted to keep the merrymaking roosters—I can’t—see?
So, as much as I wanted to keep those amusing roosters, a nice man named Richard adopted them. He picked them up two days ago and took them home to be with his family of hens to make pretty babies.
I want to believe that Richard didn’t eat them. The reason I think he didn’t eat them is that when I asked him if I could take a picture for a story I was writing, instead of telling me that he was in the witness protection program, and holding a folded newspaper in front of his face, he agreed and posed happily.
Before the roosters left, I gave them names. I named the one on the right, Lunch, and the one on the left, Dinner.
Bye-bye, Lunch and Dinner.