My teen informed me that the fridge was bare and insisted he was hungry. Feeling a tad guilty,  I agreed to take him to Potbellies for lunch and then go grocery shopping.

At Potbellies, I stayed in the car because we had pups with us, and it was a little warm; Cole went in to order. I asked for a chicken/cheddar melt and a chocolate shake. When Cole returned to the car, he handed me a Coke and insisted that I never said I wanted a chocolate shake. Of course I didn’t . . . I only imagined that I asked for a small chocolate shake with a little cookie on the straw. My sandwich was tasty, but the first thing I noticed was it had bacon. I asked about the bacon, and Cole told me it was an add-on that he thought I would enjoy, as were the mushrooms, and the whole wheat bread looked better than the regular bread they usually put it on. My sandwich was nothing like what I expected nor was it like the last chicken/cheddar melt I had ordered at Potbellies — but it wasn’t bad. He also brought me a large chocolate cookie, which he said I had asked for. I could have said no, I didn’t; but I didn’t.

Next on our list was the grocery store. You’re fascinated right? Ok, I’ll make this part short.

Cole insisted that I let him push the cart; however, when I needed to put anything in it, the cart was never anywhere to be seen. So I walked through the store laden with paper towels, Windex, and toilet paper until Cole rounded a corner, stopping inches in front of me, and seemed surprised to see me. Well, it’s true it had been awhile. I dumped the stuff in the cart and longed for the days when I could stuff him in the cart and hand him my car keys to gnaw on. We bought our groceries; I groaned at the bill; and we headed to the car. Cole uses the cart like a skateboard, and it almost tipped over, sending all of our groceries flying to the ground. But it didn’t.

On the way home, Cole yelled out, “Mom, look, a rooster!”

And sure enough, there was a rooster trotting alongside the road. Well, truthfully, he looked a little parched and thirsty, so I pulled over, and we hopped out of the car. I don’t have a great record when it comes to birds: Most birds hate me. I have no idea why — but they do. So I approached the rooster and tried to coax it to me. When that didn’t work, I suggested to Cole that he try to grab it, but he declined (Cole doesn’t like anything that has a claw foot or that might poop on him.) Sheesh . . . kids! We took a few rooster pictures, and not knowing what else to do, we left the rooster and came home.

Once home, I learned on Facebook, and from my mom, that roosters don’t usually bite and are pretty docile. So I grabbed some crackers and a bowl of water and went back to see if I could capture the rooster. What was I going to do with a rooster you might wonder. Well, rest assured, I was not going off half-cocked — I had a plan. I would nab the rooster, put him in the crate in my car, take him home, and find him a good home on a farm with plenty of chicks to chase. However, when I returned, he was gone. I hope someone rescued him or found him if he had flown the coup. There were no rooster feathers floating around, so I have no reason not to believe that all is well with Mr. Rooster.

In honor of Spumoni Day, Emily and I dished up some spumoni ice cream. We both had hoped to celebrate with “real spumoni,” but kids and a rooster got in our way, and we had to make do.

Odd Loves Company