Love is a cement chicken.

Greg and I have been married almost 24 years. Riding in the car recently, heading to a wedding, he and I were reveling in the fact that we’ve been together longer than we were single. As with any good pairing, our relationship has matured to a point that we know each other almost as well as we know ourselves. This is a good thing, as it helps us to communicate in a constructive manner when big issues come up such as financial decisions, and issues involving the well being of our children. But knowing each other so well also means that we do things for each other that may seem odd, or downright crazy if in the context of another relationship.

Years ago we worked out a two mile walking course in our neighborhood. Greg and I try to walk after dinner every day. The key word there is “try”. Sometimes we walk everyday for weeks in a row; sometimes we may walk once in a week, and sometimes weeks go by with no walking at all. As with any activity, it all depends on kid’s schedules, work schedules and just life letting us do it.

A little over a year and a half ago, the planets were aligned and we were on a good run (no pun intended), walking every day for a few weeks straight. At about a quarter mile on our route we take a left turn at a corner by a red brick ranch style house. During these particular weeks this house was being renovated, and I noticed something. I had always secretly admired a particular garden ornament that for the previous 14 years or so resided in the overgrown front garden of this house. It was one of those things that appeals to you for reasons only your right brain can understand, and for that reason, it can’t be put into words. This garden ornament, a two foot high cement rooster, had been moved from the garden to the front walk. The renovators had pulled up the entire front garden, except a few mature bushes, in order to fill the yard and around the house with dirt. Every day we walked I would take note of the rooster’s position. Sometimes in the dirt, sometimes on walk close to the porch, other times on the front porch. Then they tore up the front walk and the chicken found a more permanent spot behind the wrought-iron gate, on the walkway in the back yard, still in view from the street.

One day when Greg and I had turned the corner near the house, I was checking out the rooster, thinking how lonely he looked in the back yard, far from where he once reigned over his jungle of bushes and overgrown vines. Greg noticed me staring, and asked me what I was looking at. I told him how I had always admired the cement rooster, and how nice I thought it would look in the new herb garden that I was working on in our back yard. But alas, although the cement rooster was obviously not getting the respect he deserved sitting there in the back yard, what could I do about it.

Greg immediately told me I should go knock on the door and offer to buy it. What? I thought. Oh no, not me. I’m too shy to knock on a stranger’s door and offer to buy their cement rooster. I could never do that. Of course, Greg is not shy, and told me that I will never know unless I ask. But, I just couldn’t do it.

A few days pass, with little discussion about the cement rooster. Then, coming home from work one evening, walking up our driveway, I see a cement rooster perched on our front porch. I was confused, surprised, and excited all at the same time. I went up on the front porch so I could get a better look. It was defiantly the same cement rooster that I had coveted from our neighbor’s yard down the street. Examining the rooster close up, I saw details that I hadn’t seen from the street. It seemed bigger than I thought it was. There were flecks of white and green paint revealing that it had once been painted. The details in the feathers and in the head were fading a bit, for some reason, to me, it was even better than I thought.

So, I went inside to find out how the rooster found its way to our front porch. My middle son, 17 years old at that time, was home. I questioned him about the cement rooster. He told me, to his great chagrin, that his father had instructed him to go down the block, pay $10 for the rooster, and bring it home. My son made sure that I knew how heavy that darn lawn ornament was, and especially how very embracing it was to walk the two blocks back to the house with a heavy cement rooster in his arms. I thanked him very much for his sacrifice, hugged him, and told him how much I loved the rooster. This seemed to make it almost O.K.

Later that evening, when Greg got home, he explained to me what he had done. A few days earlier, he saw a lady leaving the house. He did something that I could never do; he went up to this total stranger and introduced himself. She turned out to be the real-estate agent selling the house. Greg explained to her that he wanted to buy the cement rooster for his wife, and she promised to let the owners know, and she gave him her card. Eventually Greg was able to talk directly to the owner. She seemed happy to sell the rooster, but didn’t know how much to ask for it. Greg suggested $10, and she was fine with that, but didn’t know why anyone would want to buy a 50-year-old worn out lawn ornament for $10. When Greg told me the rooster was 50-years-old I almost flipped…that just made me like it even more. Greg agreed, and said he really had to keep his cool when she told him how old the rooster was.

So now, my 50-year-old cement rooster resides in our back yard among cast-iron plants near the deck. My beautiful herb garden is just a fond memory now, as it was a victim of Katrina flood waters. My cement rooster will stand century over the herbs once again, as soon as we can get our back yard into shape this fall.



I recently found a cement hen at the flea-market, for which I paid considerably more than $10. Although the cement hen is very cool, and looks great next to the cement rooster – she will never be as special as the cement rooster. Every time I go in the back yard, I’m reminded of how fortunate I am to have a thoughtful husband who knows me so well.