Animal Activities #93
As the first light of dawn crept into the depths of Oak Ridge' still. Cooled valley, Barnaby's feathers were practically on fire with envy. Barnaby was a bronze turkey, and the birds' feathers shimmered with a green-and-copper sheen in the morning sun. While the hens had been squawking for more seed on the ground, Barnaby had higher aspirations: he was made to be the farm's dawn songbird.
There was only one issue. For while old Chanticleer, the rooster, had a sharp, regal crow, Barnaby's was the gobble of an enthusiastic bagpipe tumbling down a flight of wooden stairs.
Every day, gaily feathered Chanticleer would tweet from his perch on the fencepost: "You're a bird of weight, not of woodwinds."
Barnaby was determined not to accept his role as a silent witness. Night after night, when the farmer drew closed the wooden barn doors, Barnaby would sneak out to warm up near the tractor. He would stiffen his body, puff out his chest until his snood drooped over his beak, and try to warm up his hoarse, warbling voice. Gobb-le-obble-ooo! Was the sound, and the barn swallows roosting in the rafters flew away in a panic.
And then it was the morning of the Great November Frost.
The valley had been frozen over by the dead of night and the farmsteads encased in glittering ice. Chanticleer didn't even bother to eye the eastern horizon as the faint early light laced through the frost when he climbed his daily perch on the fence post. A long, deep breath to announce the day and out came only a rasping frost squeal.
Fear flared in the farm yard. With no call in the morning the farmer would have slept in, there'd be no open barn doors and breakfast would be late.
Lead out into the crunch of frost Barnaby fan himself out with his vast tail feathers, rustling like dead fall on a cool autumn evening. Balancing his head high and let his wattle flare brilliant red. Then he breathed with every inch of wind in his lungs.
He wasn't trying to be a rooster. He was being himself.
A thundering, thumping, beautiful GOBBLE-OBBLE-OBBLE! Rumbled through the valley, vibrating frost from the barn eaves.
Five minutes later the farmhouse light switched on. Barnaby had come to the rescue. It proved you don't need a tune for a sweet song, just a loud heart.
Thanks for reading my post I'm inviting @bela90, @m-fdo and @mesola to participate .
