Who Is The Bird Brain?


Oscar's Cousin

Chicago is a cosmopolitan city with cosmopolitan people; many Chicagoans proudly walk down Michigan Avenue on the shore of Lake Michigan with an air of confidence and sophistication. It is far beyond my humble abilities to judge whether that confidence is real or just an illusion. My downtown visits were only temporary outings, mainly to see the sights on a Sunday afternoon. My world was an hour or two away, at the race tracks of Sportsman’s Park, Hawthorn, and Arlington.

When a guy from the city showed up in the barn area with Sansabelt Slacks and tasseled loafers; we were expected to patronize him; until, we found out whether he was a horse owner that wrote checks. Sadly, this is part of doing business, even on the race track. We were never rude, not at all; especially, when you consider how we were treated with our country accents and western style clothing when were down on Michigan Avenue.

You see the confidence of a bona fide horseman is real; especially, in the presence of lesser humans who have no horse knowledge or skills. Consequently, we were always polite to the point of condescension, advising the city person when they were in a position of personal danger. Race horses are so strong and quick they can kick a human in an instant, breaking an arm or leg so fast that you wont see it happen, you just hear the loud cracking noise of the bone as it is broken. Most race trackers are well versed in the potential dangers and rarely get hurt, but someone that doesn’t know the habits of the beast, can be in real danger.

In this small horse world, within a much larger cosmopolitan world, is where I worked, made a living, and supported a family for six years. The people are a little tougher and harder than you normally deal with: I’m not talking about street punks who make a culture of being ignorant and mean. I’m referring to people who work with horses that will never take a step back or show fear, even if you took an ax to them. Not all the horses are like that, just the Grizzly and eagle types, but they are the ones who make you proud to work on them and the ones who would make a street punk, with all his bravado, wet his trousers.

During the late 70’s there was a character on the backside that never seemed to work, but made a decent living bumming meals. He always caught a ride to the next track and slept where ever he found a decent bed. Among those who knew him, he was a quite a guy and always good for a few laughs, especially on the weekends, when the city rubes were touring the backside. He was a bully, that can’t be denied, if he saw a weakness, he would attack with unholy terror and cause big men to scream like little girls while running away with their hands high in the air and wetting their britches. No one knew his real name, we just called him Oscar.

Oscar was fearless and lived by his wits among hard people; you see, Oscar was a Leghorn rooster. How or why he ended up on the race track will always be shrouded in mystery, but one thing that isn’t a mystery is that he had an uncanny ability to spot people who had an unnatural fear of chickens.

I’ve butchered hundreds of chickens if not thousands over the years; to me it is a sad day to kill animals that came to you so small that you could put them in a coffee cup and then a few months later you were cutting their heads off. Killing a hundred chickens is a ghastly business and I have never enjoyed any part of killing, whether hunting or butchering livestock, but it is a way of life.

On one of these butchering days, I decided my children were going to help in the process. I warned them about the proceedings and what happens and of the blood and gore so that they wouldn’t be shocked. I was the one that was shocked, they loved the whole show, while screaming like banshees and laughing like maniacs. Yes, they all turned out to be normal productive citizens and none of them have been to the looney bin or to prison.

In retrospect, I was the one worrying over my own feelings and projecting them to my children, who accepted the butchering of chickens and eating them as a natural part of the life process.

Oscar managed to live out his life in a much different style than the meat chickens on my ranch; he had that spark of intelligence that allowed him to detect weakness in otherwise bold strong men, with a brain that was smaller than a BB, from 50 yards away.

It was hilarious, he would spot a victim within a group of men wearing city clothes walking between two barns and all of a sudden his head would drop down low and he would spread his wings out to the side and commence a high speed run straight for his intended victim, like a horseman of the apocalypse. Within a few seconds, the victim would spot the maniacal chicken headed straight for him and throw up his hands in stark terror, and turn to run. Sometimes the victim’s trainer tried to protect his check writer from this feathered beast from Hell, they usually grabbed a broom to chase the chicken. Needless to say, it turned into a comedy that could never be written or staged, every incident was different and many trainers swore they were going to kill that damn bird, but Oscar lived a long and comical life. While we diabolical race trackers enjoyed our live action and chase scenes every weekend.

These days, old Oscar has been replaced with an army of Oscars; instead of white feathers, they wear suits and fancy dresses. In our last presidential election they chose the Republican nominee, a unique accomplishment for doltish bird brains, but when their candidate chose Sara Palin as a running mate, they put their heads down and spread their wings. They knew that she was fearless, but they also knew the Republicans were easy to manipulate; after all, they chose the Republican candidate, a salvage candidate that could carry on with a Liberal agenda, just in case their Progressive Socialist faltered in the campaign. Oh, and how well we fell for the ferocity of the chickens; so much so, we are still reeling and sorting out the facts, in the aftermath. The woman who spoke with a country accent and was supposedly too stupid to be elected was accused of every disingenuous and mean thing the MSM could come up with; consequently, we now live with a Secretary of State who screeches like the fishermen’s wives of a seaside market when she is excited and makes a fool of herself at nearly every opportunity, a vice president who seems to be promoting a clown troupe, and a president who was vaunted to be the most intelligent man to ever hold office, yet we are still waiting, waiting ever so patiently, for any indication of this brilliance. Actually, within his own field, supposedly of law, Obama seems to be the least prepared for the presidency, his gaffs concerning law are legend, his knowledge of geography is comparable to a junior high school student’s, his historical knowledge seems non-existent, his speech off the teleprompter is aimless and disconnected and with his teleprompter speeches, his delivery often suggests a complete disconnect with his audience. After two years, we are still waiting for the brilliance to shine through.

Instead we hear the diplomacy of a street thug: “They Bring a Knife…We Bring a Gun”; “Get in Their Faces!”;“I don’t want to quell anger”; “I think people are right to be angry! I’m angry!”; “Hit Back Twice As Hard”; “We talk to these folks… so I know whose ass to kick!”; “Republican victory would mean hand to hand combat”; “It’s time to Fight for it”; “Punish your enemies(political)”; and the oh so tough, imitation of a Chicago street thug, “I’m itching for a fight.”

Yes, I can see why a country would be afraid of a genteel grandmother, who saves the threats for the enemies of America rather than the political opposition who opposes Socialism. Because so many Americans listened and still listen to the harpies spouting their venom and lies, we will be subjected to this immature, crude, and vulgar vindictive from the want to be street thug Obama. The professor who wasn’t really a professor, merely a guest lecturer, awaiting political placement by the Chicago Machine and a wife who was a “diversity coordinator” for $300,000 a year at a hospital, working a job that didn’t exist before and doesn’t exist now, while the hospital collected huge sums money from the state of Illinois, while her husband was in the state legislature. We traded these two for Palin and her country accent: two people who had jobs that weren’t really jobs at all, for someone who wasn’t hiding behind the curtains and had a real job in politics and whose grades and past were open to the most intense Democrat and MSM scrutiny.

Yet, we now know that Barack is familiar with Urdu poetry, despite the fact that he has never quoted the first line and that his so called knowledge of the Constitution exists solely in the best methods to circumvent or discredit the Constitution.

From Melville we have this simple line to contemplate our experience with this uncouth politician from Chicago: “Hell is an idea first born on an undigested apple-dumpling; and since then perpetuated through the hereditary dyspepsias nurtured by Ramadans. We, the American non-Socialists, have had enough indigestion to last a lifetime, but we face another 21 months of heartburn with all the complications of severe indigestion.

Now we are fully aware of our options, do we run another RINO, selected by the ever willing MSM, against Obama, so the MSM can hedge their bets or do we run the only Conservative of prominence. Personally, I like the non-Elitist diction of Sara Palin, it reminds me of my own and of all the friends I have had in this lifetime; her education is not that much different than my own and she is not so ashamed of her education that her records are forever sealed, her work ethic and love of the outdoors is something that I can relate to as well. Are we to be frightened by the Oscars who work so closely with the Great Pretender in Chief, they have claimed every Republican since Eisenhower to be stupid; yet on analysis of grades and IQs there has never been any substance to their accusations, yet we run like proverbial cowards while they spout their vile lies. Personally, I am not afraid of the Oscars of print and video and I no longer believe anything they have to say.

0 0 votes
Article Rating
Inline Feedbacks
View all comments

Yet, we now know that Barack is familiar with Urdu poetry, despite the fact that he has never quoted the first line and that his so called knowledge of the Constitution exists solely in the best methods to circumvent or discredit the Constitution.

This is quite important and quite true.

Obama laments SCOTUS not tearing the Constitution up into redistributionist fragments and knitting them into a socialist fabric.

My wife and I used to have a rooster like Oscar but the day he flew up in our young son’s face and tried to spur his eyes, we ended him. The wife beat him senseless with a stick, then tossed him alive but unconscious into the the hog pen. The big sow ate the bastard right then and there.

See, we’re country folks like Sarah and we know how to deal with “Oscars”.

I have nothing to say except — excellent!


We had a black cat named Oscar at Sportsmans in the late sixties. Basically as bad as the rooster. Fat and lazy and the worse mouser ever! Just bumbed meals. As always, absolutely brilliant weaving the race track world I grew up in with the realities of today. Spot on analysis! I’m still grinning over Oscar!

I have enjoyed your columns for some time now, but never thought to leave a post. This is one of the best and it spurred me to tell you so. Thank you for your words.

They have already started the RINO nominating by touting that Mitt Romney had over 40% of the straw poll and Sarah Palin was at 7%. Really?? I want to know who they actually polled, the RNC heads?

Skook As you know I’ve greatly enjoyed your columns.This however is unworthy of you. Terrible. Same old repeated far right blasts at Obama. Plays well at F.A. but not with majority of voters.
“genteel grandmother” Now that’s funny.

Looks to me like Michelle Bachmann is the current darling of the Tea Party.A cat fight waiting to happen? Who’s your rooster? Republican primaries will be great sport.May need an auxilliary starting gate for all the fillies and mares in this race.


Skook, Good description of recent history. I once had a little bantum rooster that roamed around the farm. We put him in the coop with the rest of the leghorns and he nearly killed them all!

Skookum, great read. I find in life there are those who can read, comprehend, understand, weigh the evidence and make informed decisions. Then you have the progs. No amount of logic, facts, accurate information will ever change their minds or cause them to deter from their hatred of all things American. Just read some of the comments of the Olbermann followers. They are borderline apoplectic.

@rich wheeler: Rich, you care to try to rebut any of his points, or just dismiss them out of hand as if that will make all those pesky little facts go “poof”? Either he’s got his facts right or he’s got them wrong. You say wrong, now back up your claim and show us where he’s wrong.

Many, many years ago, an uncle was looking to add another horse to his stable. He’d gotten word of a horse that had been brought up from Mexico that the current owner was having a hard time breaking. My uncle was always game for a challenge, so he decided to have a look. He took the whole family, including me (at 3 1/2 yrs).

Well, he and two other uncles tried to ride the animal, to no avail. Each one got on, was eventually bucked off, and for good measure, got an extra kick. Each time, the family would help up my uncles, dust them off and make sure their injuries weren’t serious. After the third uncle had been bucked off, I got really mad (I was given to horrible fits of temper at that age). I climbed into the corral and stormed toward the horse. Boy, was I angry! I unleashed the sternest talking to that horse had ever experinced!

By this time my family realized that I wasn’t around. They saw me in the corral, looking up at the horse, and shaking a finger in its face. They then, to their horror, saw me lean back and launch a straight right punch to the horse’s nose. I turned and marched toward the corral fence so I could rejoin my family. Right behind me was the horse with its head down.

Sometimes, the ‘Oscars’ of the world just need a good hard punch in the nose.


LOL! I honestly remember doing that to a horse in Fla back in 68. horse’s name was Anambe and we got him at old Tropical from Uraquay. Meanest creature I ever worked with. I got fed up and punched and was the only one that could get near him. You are correct about the Oscars of the world my friend!


Week on week, month on month, year on year, the MSM diminishes as they squander the credibility capital won by their predecessors on the fact free narrative of their prejudices. They have made of themselves a despicable and contemptible diminishing breed, whose passing shall not be mourned.

Mister Wheeler,

So these were the changes you were hoping for?

We did love the chicken butchering day didn’t we? It was a game to try and avoid the flopping, headless chickens and the blood they gushed everywhere.
But I think my favorite was moose butchering day.

I was probably about 10 when my grandfather had his heart attack. As usual, my brother and I were sent up to Wisconsin for part of our summer vacation. Grandpa was able to come home a couple of days before we arrived, we got our instructions immediately upon arrival. “We have to keep the house very quiet so grandpa can rest.” Simple as that, no problem.

Next day, I was out in the back yard and heard a terrible noise, it was two monstrous red roosters fighting, screeching and flapping their wings at each other like boxers in a ring, only they were not in a ring, they were right underneath my grandpa’s bedroom window. I charged after them, I was going to run them away only it didn’t work out that way. They stopped beating up on each other and chased after me. Fortunately I was near the door to the sunporch and was able to get it open and get inside just in time. I watched them run off down the road, apparently after I stuck my nose into their fight I became their mutual enemy and they didn’t have to be mad at each other anymore.

Those boogers seemed to be almost as tall as I was at the time or the trauma of the moment still makes me believe that, they were huge!


Mom was the best, miss her so much.

Missy, you seem to have had almost as many adventures with animals as me.

I appreciate the fact that most of the animals I’ve had to personally deal with have all been under 30 pounds, no grizzleys, moose or horses with minds of their own. Have no idea what badgers weigh, that one decided not to take me or my rock throwing on.

Love your writing!


Just to add, it was eleven years this month that I lost my mom, dad died 5 months later, we believe his death was due to a broken heart.

They are still with us. Certain flowers, things my granddchildren do reminds me of similar incidents we went through when mom was here with us.

Recently have had a struggle with something my oldest granddaughter did and thinking about it, I reacted the same way mom would have. She was never shy about telling my daughters where she felt they may have strayed a bit from her expectations. So far, it’s been two weeks since the granddaughter has made an effort to contact me, but, I believe I said the right thing and will wait. Going with my mom on this one, she’s still here.