Chickens and Cowboys

This chicken and I were obviously mean to be best friends. We spent all morning sitting at opposing tables at the show, staring each other down. At first, it was slightly creepy, those beady glass eyes constantly fixed on me. A few hours later, though, we got comfortable with each other, and instead of despising his glare, I came to welcome it. We got on, that rooster and I. We got on well.

And at the end of the day, I found out he was going to be auctioned off, as part of a fundaiser for the Catskill Fly Fishing Museum, and my heart was set on taking him home. Set. We had to sit through the duration of the pre-auction dinner and pre-auction, post-dinner small talk, which at first seemed like ten kinds of torture, but the more we sat and waited (and sat and waited!), the more I began to appreciate the people around us.

To our right was an ex-Marine, who told us about his experiences in the service and with his sons in Boy Scouts. To our left was an ex-hippy, who lit up when I told him about my plans to move to Oregon after graduation. His nickname was Cowboy, and he was one of the originals from the 70's, the kind who knows everything that's been done before. Like my dad, he may think the idea is a little crazy, but he also believes that these are the kind of things you should do while you're young.

There was free wine provided with the meal, and as time went on, and more wine was passed around, the jokes became freer and the laughter louder. Cowboy drew a picture of me on his paper plate. The Marine shared his favorite foil-packet recipies. And then the auction began.

The Northeast is full of old money, and fishing shows are even more so: you'll see people spend more money than you think possible on things that no one in their right mind would spend money on. Small wonder, then, that when the chicken came to its turn, someone paid a whopping $260 for it, which was about two hundred more than my dad was willing to pay. I tried, though. Believe me, I tried.

So, we left without the chicken, but we got hours of laughs from the Marine and from Cowboy, and from the other intoxicated auction-goers. And I got my picture with the chicken.

(As I write this, my father and I are sitting in the hotel room, watching American Hoggers, which may be the best show I've never heard of. Hog hunting in Texas on a reality show? Right up my dad's alley. A monster has been created.  "Word is, the hogs are gettin' pretty damn near knee deep up in them parts" ... do people actually talk like that? )