Keep it simple, Stoopid.

How can you love a rooster you don’t even know?

I’m not quite sure, but I’ve found one, even though he is fictional. I’ve been, in my estimation, having way more of “all the feels” of late, and it’s getting kind of frustrating. Also, my hormones seem to be a ‘lil askew. I’m too old for this, really. I’ll spare you the details.

Regardless, sometimes when I get a few too many feelings it gets really uncomfortable in my skin. I’m jumpy. I’m grumpy. My head hurts. My stomach is off, all the time. I keep apologizing for every bloody thing whether I did it or not, though nobody cares. Or notices.

Which has lead to me spending more time reading and hopefully less time opening my mouth to talk. I started reading this detective/crime fiction series written by Dawn Lee McKenna, called “The Forgotten Coast” series. It’s pretty entertaining, the characters are complex enough and the dialogue and descriptions make me laugh some.

But I really identify with one of the more minor characters. He’s a rooster and his name is Stoopid. By her descriptions, he’s not a robust rooster, disagrees with the family dog, doesn’t really tend his flock, gets underfoot inconveniently and may roost on the ceiling fan if he can finagle his way into the house. He sort of became a house rooster during a hurricane.

Stoopid is a mess. But between his running-at-you bark, squawking when people to show up and his desire to roost on the ceiling fan, I feel him. I wish I could get Matt Inman of The Oatmeal to make a comic of Stoopid.

I’m with you, buddy.

 


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