Seventeen days had passed since I last saw my arch nemesis. You may recall that the rooster had taken wing to the west after hypothetically being shot in the neck with a .22 caliber handgun equipped with a suppressor. In the face of such a lengthy absence, one might naturally assume that he was gone for good. One would be wrong.
April 9, 2014 began like most mornings. My wife and I finished our breakfast together, and she left for work a few minutes early. I can’t say what unknown force drew me to the back patio that morning; perhaps it was simply the fresh feeling of a spring sunrise. Perhaps it was the beauty of newly blooming azaleas. Or maybe I was lured subconsciously to the evil that awaited me a dozen yards away. Peacefully surveying the colors of April, I sensed some small space-time disturbance behind the chicken coop. There – through the mesh of the chicken wire – the familiar gesticulation of tail feathers indicated his presence.
The magic rooster had returned.