Anatomy of an (authentic) American political campaign

Follow the 96-day evolution of a grass roots political campaign as an All-American rural community fights back against the political manipulation of their town board's election.

Thursday, October 20, 2005

Day Seventy Five

Well it finally happened. While engaging in my nightly door to door campaign rounds I was personally attacked---viciously, directly and relentlessly…by a rooster!!

I knew the damn bird was going to be trouble from the moment I pulled in the driveway. I first noticed him lurking around the stairs to the front door with a couple of his girlhens. As I stepped out of the car he shot me a look that definitely pronounced that I needed to stay far away from his reach. So I circled to the offside of the stairway on the opposite side from “His Roosterness.”

Going up the stairs, I was fine. I stayed on my side and he stayed on his. Yet unbeknownst to me, while talking to the homeowner who answered my knock, my fine-feathered friend had stealthily moved halfway up the staircase. As I turned to begin my descent, I saw him plant his scaly claws firmly in the middle of the tread. Once again choosing glory over guts I circled far to the offside of the stairway, hoping against hope that my instinct about this bird was more paranoia than certainty.

Wrong!

The further I moved away, the closer this porky pullet came, until finally with one fast swoop he lifted off the ground and flew directly at me, his beak fully engaged for combat. Being a pseudo-farm girl, experienced with animals, I reacted in my personally tried and true manner.

“Go away!” I loudly screeched. “Leave me alone!” All the while swatting at the pain-in-the-butt bird with my door to door road map.

My calmly controlled reaction of course only served to further encourage the rooster’s wrath. Backing up for a new start, this rank rooster again morphed into attack mode, this time blowing his body up like a balloon and using the internally compressed air to launch his body toward me, further and higher.

Finally my screams for salvation were heard by the homeowner who threw open a window, hung over the sill, and yelled, “Oh, I’m so sorry. Just hit him and he’ll quit.” The woman’s booming directive caused the rooster to hesitate just long enough for me to get past him and into my car. As I locked the doors in cautionary protection, the homeowner come flying out of her house with a metal tennis racket in hand. Suddenly my vicious attack rooster turned into a big fat chicken as he took off like a bat out of hell to avoid her forehand swing.

You know when I started this campaign I was prepared for some tough constituent questions, a lot of political rhetoric and the occasional nasty dog. But never did I imagine that I would be chased out of yard by a rank rooster.

Kinda made me feel like a guest star in an I Love Lucy episode.
 
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