ROOSTER NOODLE SOUP  (a true Garrett-family tale) 

When Uncle Andy was about five years old and just beginning to read and write, Grandpa Harold came for a visit.  The screen door slammed as Andy ran in sobbing, “I hate that old rooster!”

Grandpa Harold bent down to wipe away a tear and asked, “Andy, what happened?”
Struggling to catch his breath, Andy pointed to his bicycle lying in the driveway.
“Grandpa, that old rooster attacks me every time I go near the barn!  Look!  He slashed my leg wide open!”

“Yep, that old red rooster tore you up, Boy!” agreed Grandpa.  “Let’s wash you off and get a band-aid.”
They fixed up Andy’s leg and sat down at the dining room table.

“I’m not ever going to ride my bike near the barn again, and that’s final!” Andy declared.
Grandpa Harold nodded.  “I don’t blame you, Andy.  That old rooster’s pretty mean, and he knows that he’s got you scared.”

Andy felt awful.  It was no use.  He’d never again go near the clubhouse Daddy helped him build. There was no way he’d ever help Mommy gather eggs from the chicken coop.  His tools were even out there in the barn, and he couldn’t go get them to fix things around the house.  Suddenly, he remembered that he had left his Power Rangers belt right out beside that old rooster’s stomping grounds, and he threw himself down on the table and started to bawl.

Grandpa Harold wrapped his arms around Andy’s shoulders and hugged him tightly.
“Andy, I think you ought to march right out there and tell that rooster the way the cow ate the cabbage.”

“Huh?”  Andy asked as he blinked through his tears.

“Just go tell that rooster that he’d better leave you alone, or you’re going to make rooster noodle soup out of him,” Grandpa said with a wink and a smile.

“Rooster noodle soup?”  Andy wiped his eyes on his shirt sleeve.  Quickly, he pushed away from the table and ran out of the room.  A few seconds later, Andy slid into the chair next to Grandpa’s and placed a napkin and pen on the table in front of him.

“Grandpa, could you write that down?”  asked Andy.
Grandpa looked confused.

“ROOSTER…NOODLE…SOUP,” Andy said slowly, pointing to the napkin.  “Please write it down!”

Grandpa Harold carefully printed the words and handed the napkin back to his grandson who thanked him and stuck it in his back pocket.  Out the door he went, climbed on his bike, and rode toward the barn.

Grandpa watched from the kitchen window until Andy disappeared.  He shook his head wondering what in the world his grandson was thinking.  And he chuckled as he crossed the room to his favorite recliner.  Grandpa had just dozed off when the door burst open.  Andy stomped through the house holding the napkin high up in the air.

“Andy, are you alright?”  Grandpa quickly asked.

“No, Sir!” shrieked Andy.  He thrust the napkin into Grandpa’s lap and put his hands on his hips.

“Grandpa, I’m mad at you!”  Andy said with his lip quivering.

Grandpa Harold reached for his hand and asked why in the world he’d be angry.

“Grandpa, that old rooster can’t even read!”