I was but a street urchin, a waif tossed out upon the ugly surf of modern life to fend for myself. And how, pray tell, could anyone expect such a one as me to fend? I’ve no teeth for biting, no claws for digging, summerweight feathers – and in December, why, it’s just beastly out. Impossible to even dig up any bugs. I am sorry to report that I was slowly and sadly starving to death. Until… until… I happened upon a vision of loveliness. Three maidens, they were, frolicking in the woods. Upon seeing me, they cried out, “oh my poor baby” (for the record, I am not a baby but we shall let that pass for now), swooped me up in their fair arms and brought me forthwith to their home. While I was treated with the utmost care and respect, the neighbors started an outcry: “a rooster!”, they complained! “How dare thee have a rooster in our neighborhood.” And thus it was that I had to bid farewell to the three lovely maidens and to come to this farm to live where, I must admit, there is what they call in modern slang “a lot of action.”
Yes indeed, well my lady Rotkäppchen keeps me good company as does our bodyguard Buster. The three of us visit daily with Davey, Herbie Rhoda, and try to steer well clear of the Big Bachelor Roosters.