Poultry Slam 1995

It happened that the rooster lived with three dogs, a German Shepherd and two mutts. The dogs barked through their existence. They barked at everything in sight. I finally concluded that rooster thought it was a dog. Somehow, I didn't mind the dogs barking. But when a rooster barks, that's murder.

In fact, I often saw it running alongside the dogs as they raced across the dirt yard, barking at passing cars or people. If the dogs went left, the rooster went left. They'd go right, and dang if that rooster didn't go right as well. Now I don't know if this is a regular condition for roosters.

I thought I had a story for the Weekly World News. I could see it now. "The Rooster Who Thinks it's a Dog." Who knows what rooster dementia we had here? And whether the rooster chased cats up trees or pissed on fire hydrants, this wasn't clear.

But once I grasped the heart of the matter, I began to see the rooster in another light. I felt sorry for this fowl with an identity problem. And I wondered how it must react when its owners threw chicken bones to the dogs. Would it nibble on the remains of its favorite hen? I shuddered at the thought.

但一旦我抓住了问题的核心，我开始从另一个角度看待公鸡。我为这只身份有问题的鸡感到难过。我想知道，当主人把鸡骨头扔给狗时，它会做出什么反应。它会啃它最喜欢的母鸡的残骸吗？我一想到就发抖。

Yet despite the revelation of the rooster's bark, the problem of sleep didn't end. Then one day, a new neighbor, a young lady, who often drank herself to bliss, got a gun and blew the rooster away. She became somewhat of a local hero.

然而，尽管公鸡的叫声被揭露，睡眠问题并没有结束。然后有一天，一位新邻居，一位年轻女士，她经常喝得酩酊大醉，拿起一把枪，把公鸡吹走了。她多少成了当地的英雄。

I must say, though, it was an unfitting end for the bird. But I suppose one can tolerate barking dogs. But barking roosters? That's another matter altogether.

不过，我必须说，这对这只鸟来说是一个不合适的结局。但我想人们可以容忍狗吠。但是叫公鸡？这完全是另一回事。

July 19, 1992. This afternoon, at the 26th Street Flea Market, I had one of those experiences that remind me why I shop in the first place. Not shop like grocery shop, but step out into the world searching for that one thing I cannot name.

1992年7月19日。今天下午，在26街跳蚤市场，我有一次这样的经历，让我想起了当初购物的原因。不要像杂货店那样购物，而是走出去寻找一件我无法说出名字的东西。

I pass the usual objects, the grinning mammies offering themselves up as salt and pepper shakers, the coffee table made from dice, another head carved from a coconut. "That's collectible," the dealers say, referring to an ashtray in the shape of a doll-sized toilet bowl. Collectible to who?

我路过那些平常的东西，咧嘴大笑的奶妈们把自己当盐和胡椒摇瓶，用骰子做成的咖啡桌，还有一个椰子雕刻的脑袋。“这很有收藏价值，”经销商说，指的是一个洋娃娃大小的马桶形状的烟灰缸。谁可以收藏？

Last weekend at the flea market, I saw this thing, a taxidermied turkey's head attached to its own foot. This turkey was equipped with that length of flesh that spills from the top of its beak and fell to its neck. Stiff red hair stood out from the head and shoulders, and the claws were really sharp. You'd think that something armed like that might be able to protect itself.

I pictured its maker standing by a chopping block saying, "I know. I'll take the turkey's head and attach it to the foot." Why would you do that? Or more importantly, what sort of life would you lead that might enable you to make this connection?

I was hypnotized by this object and asked the price as if I were under a spell. "$45," the dealer said. My tongue was dry from hanging in the open air, and I tried to fit it back into my mouth. "All right," she said, "$35. $30." But she could have gone up. "All right. $85. $120. $370." I had no choice but to follow wherever she led me. I handed over my wallet in a trance, just gave it to her, thinking she could take the whole thing, the cash, blank checks, library card, whatever. Take it all.

我被这个物体催眠了，像被咒语一样问起了价格。“45美元，”经销商说。我的舌头因为悬挂在户外而干燥，我试着把它放回嘴里。“好吧，”她说，“35美元。30美元。”但她本可以涨的。“好吧。85美元。120美元。370美元。”我别无选择，只能跟着她带我去的任何地方。我恍惚地把钱包交给了她，以为她可以拿走所有东西，现金、空白支票、借书卡等等。全部接受。

I stared into the face of this taxidermied turkey's head, and nothing else mattered. Tomorrow, what's that? Yesterday doesn't count. My life began the moment I could call this thing my own.

On the way home I felt giddy and confident that I could approach anyone at all and say, "I'll give you one hundred-- no, $500,000 if you can guess what I've got in this paper sack." And I swear that not one of them could have come up with the right answer. I walked home 30 blocks, looking everyone square in the eye and thinking, "Sucker." Ira Glass Well, David Sedaris is the author of Barrel Fever, often heard on NPR's Morning Edition.