"Cockadoddlely- Did!"

The village of Folsom, LA has its own post office. At one time, the U.S. Postal Service was gonna close down the office to save money, but the locals spoke up and complained much to the surprise of Gary, our postmaster.

I think he lobbied hard to any ear that was within stamp licking distance.

But the little brick building ensconced in the corner of town is a country office and sometimes, we forget that. Returning from our trip to Michigan to pick up our mail and in between my conversation about the Air Force and Gary's veteran status, came a strange muffled groan. At first, I thought I was hearing things, but it grew from a faint hum to a cackled whimper. Gary didn't seem at all phased, so I blew it off, assuming that it was what I had for breakfast that was making sounds unfamiliar to any Post office.

Gary went back to pick up our mail and while he was gone, I leaned over the counter to see where the sounds were coming from. The groan sounded like a raspy complaint emanating from an enclosure of sorts. It seemed to gain momentum the closer I got until I hear that distinctive early morning wakeup tune.

"Eurt-eur-eurt; eur, EURRRR!"

It's a rooster, I thought. What the hell is a rooster doing in the post office? What? Is today, bring your pet to work day?

Gary returns to answer," Yeh, occasionally this one farmer who raises prize winning roosters will ship a few hens with his rooster."

"He doesn't sound too happy about his travel accommodations to me," I said.

"I'm told the eggs from this farmer sell for sixty bucks an egg!"

"No way, I said, that's wild, and a rather expensive breakfast, dont'cha think?

"Oh no, Mr. Ben," these are prize winning birds!"

Walking out of the door with an armful of mail, I asked,"Then, what comes first? The chicken or the prize winning egg?"


Copyright 2016/ Ben BensenIII