I’m now receiving daily text messages from two hit men:
Hit man #1 – now code named “Silencer”, is still looking for redemption after his first botched attempt, and offers to hypothetically bring larger caliber firearms. I hesitate, still nervous about disturbing the neighbors and drawing the attention of local law enforcement. He assures me that such weapons can also be fitted with noise suppressors. He is on standby in the early mornings before work and in the evenings after six.
Hit man #2 – code named “Bowfisher” is, according to his dad, ready at a moment’s notice any time after the local high school lets out.
But alas, their communications are in vain. The rooster – code named “Romeo”, appears and disappears randomly and without warning. As if sensing the bloodlust in the air, he somehow seems to vanish during hit man availability hours.
Shirley is not eating well. Lucy has a little extra spring in her step. Laverne is oblivious. Production is still at 2/3 capacity.
My life is beginning to revolve around the comings and goings of a feral bird. I find it difficult to focus on work, constantly looking out my office window or getting up and strolling through the yard to see if he is proximate. Increasingly nervous, Romeo hides from sight, often just behind the coop. He circles the other side of the coop when I walk past, the only evidence being an occasional glimpse of his trailing tail feathers. On rare occasions our eyes meet as he peeks around the corner to see if I’m still watching. At these moments we we freeze, each motionlessly gazing into the other’s soul.
A bond begins to form between man and fowl. Is it shared hate, or could this be a form mutual respect?