Long story short: played Wipeout at a band reunion in March of 2008, had a heart attack, had another in Kingman Regional Hospital, came out with four stents and a bushel of pills and an dire warning from my cardiovascular doctor: "If it comes from a cow I don't want you to go near it."
So, I found myself on the road this morning at the crack of dawn (walking towards the hill at the end of Stagecoach Road to increase my heartbeat for one minute to 220 minus my age). Didn't want to walk, lusted after bacon and the bed, but started trudging ahead in the rising heat (actually tolerable at 6 A.M.), looked over and saw this to my right:
Kept looking at it as I walked and fifty yards later, I took this photo:
Is that a chicken descending out of the cloud?
Why, yes it is, complete with a steely-eyed gaze. As I type this Peckasso—Junior Rooster—is fluffing himself on the floor behind me. He is causing me fits. I've been letting him out in the yard in the mornings to get some air and exercise every day, but he is getting harder and harder to round up. Yesterday I had to resort to the pool skimmer to swat him down and bring him back into his coop in the studio. Olga is coming in an hour to clean and I've got to clean up all his damn droppings. Tom Augherton has ordered a custom coop ($150) which will be delivered on Friday, and then Peckasso will go down the hill to Tom's house (we have joint custody). Funny how everything we see is predicated on what is on our mind. I think this is called selective perception.
"If all you have is a hammer, all your problems look like nails."
—Old Vaquero Saying
