Brian McGrory - Buddy: How a Rooster Made Me a Family Man

Strangled

Dead Line

The Nominee

The Incumbent

Copyright 2012 by Brian McGrory

All rights reserved.
Published in the United States by Crown Publishers, an imprint of the Crown Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.
www.crownpublishing.com

CROWN and the Crown colophon are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
McGrory, Brian.
Buddy : how a rooster made me a family man / Brian McGrory. 1st ed.
1. McGrory, BrianFamily. 2. Authors, AmericanBiography. 3. Human-animal relationships. 4. Roosters. I. Title. PS3563.C36814Z46 2012
813.6dc23
[B]
2012011720

eISBN: 978-0-307-95308-7

Jacket photograph: Tamara Staples
Additional jacket photographs: (frames) Robert Kirk, (photo of family) Sam Edwards, (golden retriever) courtesy of the author Author photograph: Suzanne Kreiter

v3.1

To Pam, Abigail, and Caroline

(as well as Baker, Walter, Charlie, Tigger, Lily, Dolly, Mokey,
Lala, Smurf, Chaz, and the nameless frogwhat a house)

1

Try as you might, you never forget that first time a rooster announces the dawn of a new day from your very own yard.

In my case, I jerked awake to find myself in a place I had never been, on a bed that wasnt mine, in a room I didnt know. There were windows where there had never been windows, and outside those windows, the first hint of morning light revealed the outline of tall trees I had never seen before.

I pressed and poked at the unfamiliar alarm clock until I realized it wasnt the source of the sound. No, the noise in question was somewhere else, somewhere out of reach, somewhere outside of this room.

Cock-a-doodle-doo! Cock-a-doodle-doo!

It seemed to be getting closer, louder, clearer.

Dammit. I whirled toward the origin of the profanity, a figure that had suddenly stirred beside me in bed, a woman with a raspy voice still choked by sleep. She tossed off the thick comforter and lunged toward her side of the room.

In the darkness, I caught a glimpse of the yellow sweatshirt and blue surgical scrubs worn by this mysterious, fleeting figure. Hey, wait a minute. This wasnt any unknown blonde. It was my fiance, Pam. What was she doing here? I watched as she paused in the murky expanse, apparently gathering her bearings, and then vanished through an open door.

Cock-a-doodle-doo! Cock-a-doodle-doo!

I looked at the alarm clock on the bedside table: 4:55 A.M . Clarity was making a comeback. Memories were returning, gaps filling in. I had moved the day before. Yes, right, moved. It wasnt a small move. Id left the city I love, Boston, where I had lived for most of the last twenty-two years, for a distant and leafy place known as suburbia. Id left a classic 150-year-old brick town house loaded with character and charm for a rambling new suburban home surrounded by this thing I was told was a lawn. Id left a life of total freedom and independencethe only thing resembling a familial obligation was my golden retriever, who never felt obligatory at allto live with Pam, her two daughters, their two rabbits, and their dog, Walter, in a new house that, as of the previous day, I think I even co-owned.

Cock-a-doodle-doo!

Oh, and how could I forget their rooster? Otherwise known as my wake-up call. That was Buddy screaming outside, Buddy waking me up, Buddy announcing, with singular style, that my life would never again be the same. Just as I had spent my first night in a new house, so had he, in his case a grossly expensive shed that Pam had custom-built in the side yard, with tall double cedar doors, insulated walls, a shingled roof, a shelf that served as his high perch, and windows that had yet to be installed, which explained the penetrating predawn alert. Buddy had awakened to the sounds of potential predators outside his house, which meant that the rest of the street awoke to Buddys war cry. Good morning, new neighbors!

I heard footsteps downstairs, then the happy yelps and little barks of the relieved chicken undoubtedly being carried in Pams arms. I had this rush of fear that she was bringing him up to bed until I heard the cellar door open, steps, silence. Moments later, the darkness giving way to more light, Pam fell into bed next to me.

Poor guy is scared and confused, she said sleepily.

Ill be okay, I said.

No. I mean Buddy.

As Pam drifted back to sleep, I lay in bed trying to get my head around how all this was going to work. Im not talking about this new, grand, crowded life filled with spasms of drama lurking around the most seemingly complacent corners, or the constant cacophony of girls, dogs, and chicken, or the long commute to work, or the neighbor inevitably leaning over my back fence to tell me when to flip my burgers, or the fact that my new walk to the coffee shop led me along a highway and to a strip mall. No, I just mean getting up, getting ready, getting out. In my old life, as in yesterday, Id accompany my golden retriever on a quiet walk through a tranquil park known as the Esplanade set along the banks of the Charles River in Boston. The river flowed on one side, surprisingly clean. The high-rises of Back Bay towered on the other. Wed loop through the Public Garden, where swan boats awaited the days riders and the colorful palette of fat tulips signaled the start of better things. Wed mosey up Newbury Street, past the stores and boutiques that had yet to come to life for the day, the dog happily slurping water from any shopkeepers who happened to be hosing down their sidewalks. Wed stop at a coffee shop where the nice counter clerk knew what I wanted and always seemed happy that I was there, and wind up on my front stoop, where Id read the paper and the tired dog would laze in the sun.

Now I had the finite space of a yard. Now I had a car to get to Dunkin Donuts. And now I had an eight-year-old in the house named Caroline who had learned from her older cousin the prior summer how to pick a lock with a bobby pin. She was excellent at it, a talent that would result in uncharacteristically short and uncommonly tense showers for me.

Mommy! Mommy! Mommy!

The kids, two girls, raced into the room at that very minute, dived through the air, and landed on the bed between Pam and myself, the older of the daughters, Abigail, rolling into me, giggling loudly as she gave me the once-over from her vantage point on the pillow, and declaring Your hair is sticking straight up.

Good to know. Pam rolled over, and the three of them hugged and talked about their first night in their new bedrooms. The two dogs had stirred and began wrestling on the bedroom floor. Buddy began crowing again from two floors below.

Hes in the basement, Pam told the kids, who were looking quizzical, and it was as if she had lit the fuse of a rocket. They roared out of the room as fast as they had arrived, followed more slowly by their mother, who was followed by the two dogs, leaving me alone with my hopes and fearsmy hopes being that this whole big venture would work out as it was supposed to, my fears being about every possible way that my twisted little mind could devise to screw things up.