On the Paddybug Farm

At the crack of dawn, perched up on the ridge of a worn red roof, is a rooster, sitting with his yellow, ribbed shank legs crossed over each other. He whistles to himself, tapping his golden feathered hand on what would be his knee to his personal metronome as his iridescent tail bobs to the beat. His droopy eyes look and see you, sitting on the roof with him, smiling constantly.

He lifts his right wing and holds it breast high, laughing as he speaks. “H-h-hey there, stranger. Nice to see a fellow bird ‘round the farm.” He had a deep southern drawl that warmed you like a blanket and spoke with a firm glottal stop, refusing to pronounce t’s and s’s in the middle of words. “Name’s Lyle. You’ve stumbled on ol’ Paddybug’s farm. ‘N fact, it's ‘bout time to get this ol’ place up an’ runnin’, whaddya say? Introduce you to some of my friends.”

Lyle props himself up and stands on the corner of the roof, looking east. He waits until the butterscotch sun breaks over the horizon, casting a beam of light across the world under the red sky. Lyle takes a deep breath and crows. He comes back and sits beside you, closer than he was before.

“Let’s see, now. Stanley’s usually the first one out. Oh, look! Here comes Stanley.” Lyle points straight ahead towards a barn. You see a hefty cow with hazelnut hair plods out. “There he is. Whew boy, Stanley always comes out as soon as I crow, otherwise he’d sleep away the day. His special lady friend oughtta follow him soon.” Just then, you see an obsidian cow sway her hips with a full swinging udder. “That’s Wanda. She’s got a real bite to her. Don’t know how Stanley won her over, just between you and me.” He nudges you and winks. “Probably has to do with the fact he’s only option. Ol’ Paddybug ain’t got no other cows.”

Lyle folds his wings over his crossed legs and looks at you kindly. “Well, stranger, I’ve been doing all the talkin’ it seems. I-I-I sure do love talkin’, don’t I?” he laughs. “Ain’t that the truth. Seems like all I do is talk. Oh, but it’s nice to have company. Haven’t had a bird friend in many a moon, I reckon. Shoo, farmer Paddybug doesn't want me spendin’ much time with other bird folk. Hate to say it, but it’s cuz most of ‘em’s used for fixin’s and grub. Shame, but I understand why; he don’t want me gettin’ too attached to his next supper.” He points to his left at a pen with a small chicken coop. “We also don’t go and try to name any of ‘em, just in case. Shame. Tell you what, Red – mind if I call you Red? Shoo, I’m used to not namin’ no birds just in case, but I reckon ol’ Paddybug never had an appetite for cardinal, ain’t that the truth. Course, you might just be passin’ through, takin’ a quick breather, that’s all. Tell you what, Red—oh, look now, here comes Wilfred and Penny.”

You look at the same barn the cows exited and see two plump pigs trot out, grunting and sniffing the earth. “Those two crack me up, always makin’ funny noises. Aren’t they funny?” You hear a small meowing to your right where you see, hiding in a hay bale, a tiny grey kitten. “Oh, that there is Sissy. She’s ‘bout three months old, if I’m not mistaken. Farmer Paddybug got her after his granddaughter passed away. Aw shucks, that was a terrible day, Red. Glad you didn’t have to witness that. Ain’t none of us ate for three days; ol’ Paddybug didn’t feed nobody, not even himself. Fortunately, one of his pals stayed here for a week and helped ‘round the farm. Swell guy, can’t remember his name. Think it was Bob or Bill or Ben. Anyhow, ol’ Paddybug’s friend cheered him up and got us eatin’ and laughin’ again. The farmer’d fall back into a sadness every once in a while, so he got himself that little kitten you see down there, Sissy. She won’t hurt ya. She likes chasin’ Wanda ‘round the farm – I tell you what, one of these days Wanda’s gonna step on her and poor Sissy’ll never go near her again, ain’t that the truth.”

You hop once towards the edge of the roof and look over the farm with Lyle. The cows and pigs mingle together, then a few goats emerge onto the stomped dirt under the rising sun. You hear sounds come from the chimney behind you, the sounds of doors opening and bootsteps thumping on hardwood floors. Lyle lifts his right wing to his ear and listens with you in the chimney. “Sounds like ol’ farmer Paddybug’s awake.” He sits back down and looks out across the farm. “Whew-wee. Yep, this farm’s been through a lot lately, but we keep goin’, don’t we? We always keep goin’ and wakin’ up and gettin’ to work. And I thank my lucky stars we’ve got as nice a farmer as Paddybug – just wouldn’t know what to do if he wasn’t! I’ve been sittin’ here on this roof every mornin’ for ‘bout nine years now, if I’m countin’ the time correctly – them humans got a different yearspan than we do, but I like keepin’ track alongside farmer Paddybug. Yep, I reckon nine human years, havin’ the good privilege to wake this farm up. My favorite part is watching my friends come out from where they was sleepin’, like Stanley and Wanda and Wilfred and Penny and Sissy and – shoo, the whole gang!”

Lyle looked down and sighed heavily. “I remember when Macy Lou didn’t wake up.” You look to your left and see Lyle’s smile hanging on his beak by a thread. “She was the best darn thing ‘bout wakin’ this farm up, ain’t that the truth. Ol’ Macy Lou was my special friend for years. Heck of a hen, I tell you what. She had the prettiest smile and the nicest laugh you never did hear. One day I propped myself up on this here roof; watched that sun come up over that there horizon, just like any day; and sung my mornin’ song. Stanley came and brought his special friend Wanda with ‘im. Wilfred and Penny walked side by side. And I was waiting for my gal to join me on the roof and watch the sunrise, just as we always did. She never did wake up…” Lyle’s head hung low, you took a hop closer to him. “I didn’t feel like wakin’ up ever again, let alone the whole farm. But thank my lucky stars farmer Paddybug would come and wake me up himself. He’d get me outta that there barn every mornin’ for ‘bout a week ‘fore I managed to do it myself. He was the Lyle to my Paddybug, if I say so myself. It’s funny, ain’t it? Sometimes you need a pal to do the very thing you do for others for you.”

Lyle lifted his head with pride. “Yep, this farm’s been through a lot. But we wake each other up. Each mornin’. And I find, indeed, that it’s become a true privilege to wake up the folk on the Paddybug farm.”

You hear a door squeak open and shut below you. A thin, old farmer walks out from the house underneath you. “There he is now,” Lyle said contently. He slaps his knees with his wings hands and presses up, grunting as he rises to his talons. “Well, Red, looks like we’re off to work on the ol’ Paddybug farm. Gee, I love seeing a day’s work fulfilled once the sun goes down. Tell you what, Red. If you feel like staying, t’would do me good havin’ ‘nother bird ‘round here that I can talk to. Been gettin’ lonelier after Macy Lou went up to the big coop in the sky. But if you’re just passin’ through, I’d just like to say thanks for lettin’ me tug your ear, Red.”

Lyle clacks his yellow talons one after the other on the roof and spreads his wings, lifting off, and gently flapping down to meet farmer Paddybug. You tilt your head as you watch the animals gather closer to their caretaker, nuzzling his legs and listening to the old man laugh.