RIPHEF

This post is about Hef, and how he's dead, and I actually did take pictures, but decided people would rather look at pictures of the girls making mud pies in aprons and chef hats than pictures of a dead rooster. You're welcome.

At 4am on Saturday, as I fumed, wide awake in my bed, listening yet again to the dawn "COCKADOODLEDOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!" outside my window, I formulated a plan. Four hours later, when Mitch finally rolled out of bed, all innocent and sleepy, I told him of this plan. It had something to do with me being too tired to cook, clean, or perform any of my other wifely duties while that rooster was still alive. Now, I've been complaining about Hef the Rooster pretty much since he arrived here, because I'm a light sleeper and he shaves off about two hours of my precious sleep every morning. Nothing ever came of my lamentations until I declared my brilliant plan. So! The girls and I trotted off to our t-ball game. Mitch called during the game. "It's done."

I broke the news gently to the girls in the car on the way home, thinking they'd be upset and there'd be tears. "Can I have the leg?" "No, I want the leg!" they bickered. My little country girls. When we got home, there was Hef, headless and featherless, soaking in a sink of ice water. They poked him for a while and examined his stump, then they went out to make mud pies.

Mitch splayed him out on the grill and he, the girls, and Henry all tasted him. "It tastes like chicken-flavored gum!" Grace declared. Jack and Mitch are on an all vegetarian kick right now for some reason. I'm still having trouble sleeping because now the frogs are waking me up....