ROOSTER RAGE - Segment 2 (Scroll down for previous segment)

    Rudy was the barnyard bully at Gramps Camp.  I would have preferred going to a basketball camp, even a Christmas tree wrestling camp, but Gramps Camp was free. 

     Anyone who visited Gramps Camp knew the “Law of the Camp”---between you and having fun was a varied assortment of barnyard assailants. It was there that I learned to run like the wind.  The steeple chase and relay run were nothing compared to the rooster chase and bull run.

     The “rooster chase” had a profound effect on my life, leading to years of trauma therapy. (My wife is still hoping I’ll have a full recovery.)  The chase involved Gramps’ big white attack rooster, Rudy, who I was certain had escaped from a maximum security prison for roosters.  He had little beady eyes and a slasher beak to go along with his lethal talons.  Judging from Rudy’s size, I figure he must have been the first rooster on steroids. 

     Every time we would drive into Gramps Camp and park, I would go through my usual routine; palpitating heart, sweaty palms, nervous twitching….At the same time, I would be peering out the car windows in every direction, looking for Rudy.  Not seeing him, I would very quietly open the car door and step outside, making sure to hold onto the car, to prevent my wobbly knees from buckling.  Steadying myself, and gaining all the strength I could muster, I would sprint like a BB shot for the back door of the farmhouse.  Once inside, I would peek out the window.  There would be Rudy, standing in the middle of the yard.  When he saw me, he would wink a beady eye and flash one of his talons.  I tried to convince Gramps he was harboring a felon who had served time in the slammer for harassing little kids.  The least he could do was outfit Rudy with a beeper so I would always know his whereabouts.  Gramps would just smile and continue reading his paper.