When Roosters Crow

Keep Quiet So You Don't Lose Your Head 

  I was out in the main field the other day and heard a frightening sound coming from the chicken barn. Fearing there was an attack in progress, I dropped my hoe and sprinted across the field in my baby blue crocs, the ones that Sherry got for me on sale last year for seven dollars. As fast as I could, I ran over to the barn (you know the one). I arrived out of breath with crock-laden feet complaining loudly, and quickly scanned the area with my predator eyes. It takes a predator to see another predator, you know. I slowly scanned and listened. I seem to have thwarted the attack. This surprises me a little given the stealth of my run over to the barn (you know which one), and my wheezing seems barely audible. How could the predator know I was here? Okay, everything is fine… wait, there it is again, that sound. Quick, it’s in the barn (you know, the little one made out of oak)! I jump to the door as quickly as light, and there it is, I’m face to face with it. There on a straw bale is a young, white Leghorn rooster attempting his first concerto of cocka-doodle-do for all his female admirers. For the hens and me, all is well.

I have since found out there are at least 4 more fellow crooners and they shall fare no better than the little Leghorn. In fact, the other guys may fare worse faster than him since they’re bigger and heavier.

I tell you all of this for a couple of reasons. First, it’s a food blog--the roosters are food and were meant to be such. People need to understand that all food starts out some place other than on a styrofoam tray wrapped in plastic and being sold at the megamart. Our animals have been raised in a wonderfully clean, healthy, caring way. This is ultimately their fate.

Secondly, and this is the big reason--sometimes it’s best to keep your mouth shut! Or in the case of roosters, beaks shut! Have you ever heard the saying--if people think you a fool, do not open your mouth and relieve all doubt? 

It’s good to be still at times, and even the Bible tells us not to be boastful. It also says to “be still and know that I am God.”  Listen and talk little, as the wise men do. The Leghorn’s lifespan would be ultimately different if he had not opened his mouth/beak.

I know I am a good one to talk about not talking, but even I have taken my own advice from time to time. Being quiet saved my life once. I was a very young firefighter full of what young men are full of. At about 1:30 AM a run came in for my engine. I was assigned to engine 1 at the time. The run was a dumpster fire behind a dive bar in downtown Anderson. We arrived and put out the fire. During our cleanup, other fire trucks started to arrive, and in those days we didn’t have a walkie-talkie for everyone, so none of us knew what was going on. We’d soon find out that this was just the beginning of a long night.

There was an arsonist in the area and the dumpster was just a warm up for him. He set some small fires in the building’s hallway just across the street from our fire. As we got our gear back into order and helped the others on their fire, we noticed heavy smoke ensuing from the top of a highrise building across the intersection from our location. The arsonist was setting fires throughout the building getting more brazen as he went along. He did manage to get a couple of apartments going good before being caught by some of our fellows.

  The night had turned to very early day and we were all exhausted. I was trying to get a little air when a battalion chief told me to tank back up and go down into the basement. It was starting to burn and he had only me and a veteran who had just arrived to send down. I threw on my air bottle and followed John through the access that was in through a basement doorway set into the sidewalk. Straight down we went into complete, total smoke-filled darkness, the kind that eats the light from your flashlight like a black hole eats matter. I was to be relieved from my position on the advancing hose line as soon as fresh manpower arrived.

Manpower did arrive and none too soon. We had been working this thing for over five hours, in the middle of the summer the heat can get to you. I was exhausted. I had been relieved to take a break.

I started to exit and in my haste I thought for sure I knew how to get out through that still-thickening smoke. I made a mistake. I let go of the hose line that would be my guide out. You get disoriented very quickly in that type of environment. I was lost and we didn’t have PASS devices and walkie-talkies back then, so no one knew I was missing and I knew they didn’t know. I was running out of air and I had gotten turned around in this huge, hot, smoke-filled basement. I was going to die! No one would know until it was time to clean up and they realized I wasn’t to be found.

I was panicked! Do I move forward to where I think the opening out is or do I try to find the hose line that we brought in and follow it back? Both of these options could lead me further in if I failed, and farther away from anyone likely to stumble across me.

“If I could just see,” I thought to myself, " Take this stupid mask off, It’s covered over with soot and that’s why I can’t see. You idiot, get that mask back on your face, you’re going to die inhaling that thick, acrid smoke.” My lungs are burning; it feels like needles being pushed through them. It hurts and I am truly scared.

Suddenly my dad’s words come to me, “No matter what, do not panic. Panicking is what kills people.” Bless his heart, little did he know he had the kind of kid that was going to need that advice someday. I stopped, leaned against the wall of my tomb, and I became still, quiet, and relaxed. I tried to slow my breathing. My air supply was very short. I prayed to my heavenly father for peace.

  In my silence I thought I heard something. I moved a little towards it. Yes, that is familiar, it’s the sound of a 1969 Howe fire truck with an international gas engine and straight exhaust pipes wailing out its wonderful God-sent sound to my ears, pumping water with all its might. I miss the sound of those old trucks loud and boisterous. I am glad that my fathers, here and in heaven, taught me to be silent and still and to listen. I followed that old truck’s growl to the point that the day’s new sunshine would just barely break through the vial of smoke and down into that basement shaft so I could see to get free of its confines. I guess you know I made it. I believe I am a better firefighter and man for it. 

Sometimes even I know not to crow. It could save your life.

Thanks for reading this. I’m through talk’n. -- Matt