Joe Cocker Is Dead

No, you can leave your hat on.

It's not that Joe Cocker.  It's the Rooster.  Apparently, that was his name.  He had survived the purge of the barn where they hunted down all of his kind and eliminated them like they were the scourge of Black Death.

Or kind of like the Cherokee.

Not fucking cool.  But he survived.  He was the sole survivor.  He even survived the cat.  The one that apparently took out the State Champion Chicken.  June's daughter told the tale with sadness--she had shown her chicken at the fair and it had won and won and won.  She cherished her chicken.  Until she came home one day to no chicken.

Just a cat with a feather hanging out of its mouth.

Goddamn, the farm is cruel.  And so are cats.  I have two, I know.  Hell, even June and Johnny's daughter was a little too matter of fact about the telling of the story.  A little....detached.  Of course, I immediately think "attachment disorder".  God, let's save for the therapy now.  She's naming these animals, grooming them, and then watching the slaughter.


By the way, let's call her Half-Pint.  Hey, it's better than Sybil.

And now, Joe.  Apparently, he survived the mass genocide and then he just took a tumble in the trough and drowned.  Yep, June said when their feathers get wet they're like concrete.  So, he sank like Jimmy Hoffa in Lake Michigan.  There was never any hope.  She said, "it's a common misconception that chickens can swim."  I never had that misconception.  Fuck, I've never seen a chicken paddling around.  Have you?  No.  Why couldn't Joe have just had a little water bottle like the rabbit?  Hmm?  No.  No, we set him up to DROWN.  God, this is horrifying.  I thought this was going to be a foodie's adventure. Some kind of Field to Fork Sustainable Farming Agricultural Learning Utopia.

Fuck that.

It's a Death Camp.  And now Joe Cocker is dead.  And I'm a little sad about that.  I wasn't even fond of the rooster except for the fact that I admired his fighting spirit.  His survivor status.  His moxie.  All so he could drown ignobly in a trough with no one to witness or help save him.

Which actually brings up a point.  And it's really more of a conspiracy theory.  You should probably be aware that I am a huge fan of conspiracy theories.  I can never understand why people get so pissed off when there's a good conspiracy theory ramping up on the underground.  Not the ones that are spiteful or cause genuine pain or try to cheaply promote a political agenda.  I mean the ones that have some meat to them--they may still promote an agenda, but they make you sit back and wonder.  I like those.  I think they're fun.

Which brings me to my latest.


He's a little goat on the farm.  Male.  Horned.  Ornery.  He butted me in the ass so hard on my first day that he literally lifted me an inch or two.  I never even saw or heard him coming.  I just looked back and he was standing back behind me with his head cocked to one side slightly as if he were contemplating where his next exact hit should be for maximum impact.   I felt like he should have a cigarette hanging out of his mouth.  I laughed but realized quickly one indisputable truth - Luigi was a force to be reckoned with.

So back to my theory:

I think Luigi killed that rooster.

For God's sake, he thinks he's Italian.  And he thinks he's part of a "family".  Enough said.  Conspiracy theory is born.

And Joe Cocker Is Dead.

*All animal names remain unchanged.

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