01/28/05
Deacon Balliew

I know for a fact we all have heard of watch dogs. We have heard a few stories of how observant they are and a few stories of how on occasions watch dogs were vicious and would attract intruders.

When I think of a watch dog I think of a growling dog with teeth showing giving a person warning of impending danger or whatever he might have in his mind at the time.

I doubt any of you have ever heard of watch roosters and how vicious they can be. I thought it was time to share this story and the secrets of how to raise a watch rooster, and how efficient they are.

I wrote a story several years ago about these roosters. At that time I didn’t think Mrs. Inez Balliew and her kids would appreciate the true story.

And I knew for sure they would not appreciate my calling their pets watch roosters. You readers will have to make the determination if they were pets or watch roosters and would you even know what a watch rooster was if confronted by one.

This story will give you a little knowledge of how to determine the difference, if you are caught in such a circumstance.

If you wish hard enough, it might come true. That’s a belief that Inez Balliew and her kids had thought for several years. The secret is finding a way to make it happen.

One thing for sure Mrs. Inez was the master at making her wishes come true, I knew for sure, especially where I was concerned.

“I just wish you would look going up the sidewalk,” she said one day.

As I looked I saw a young lady running like the wind heading back up the sidewalk in which she had just come with two roosters, Butch and Killer, in hot pursuit.

Just as they were about to catch up with the young lady, she made one giant leap, left foot catching the back bumper and then a beautiful handstand into the back of her mother’s pickup truck — not the front seat in which she had arrived, screaming, “Get! Get!”

I saw her mother laughing as she told her mother, “But Mama, what is wrong with them things, are they crazy!” Mrs. Balliew then turned to me asking what I thought our friends, neighbors, and especially our kids’ parents would think when they saw those two crazy roosters acting like that.

“I wish you would do something. This is embarrassing.”

I remember telling her, “Mama, those two crazy roosters as you’re calling them are what you and the girls once called your little darlings and your sweetie pies.”

“Well they aren’t anymore, they are awful. I wish they wouldn’t run to the driveway every time someone pulls in, walk up to the car like they are greeting them. You know Butch flogged the mailman the other day, and the young man who reads our water meter is telling around town, people had better watch out for our attack watch roosters. You have got to do something about them.”

All I could say was, “Yes sir I sure have, but what?”

My thoughts were how in the world could this kind of thing happen? She was right. It seemed every time we had a visitor drive into our driveway, or they saw someone walk toward our house, one or two of the roosters would run to see who or what was entering what they thought was their home range.

And on several occasions our visitors felt uncomfortable not knowing what to think or do when the girl watch roosters dropped a wing, then started dancing and strutting around.

Each year Mrs. Balliew and her crew of girls would have a family of baby chicks arrive that they would either be hatched by their mother hen, hatch in an incubator from our hens’ eggs, or bought from a commercial hatchery.

These three combinations of ways of getting baby chicks caused us to have in a few years a breed of All American variety of chickens that seemed to be the pride of the community.

Most of those All American beauties the kids gave names such as Blossom, Petunia, Dimple, Dominique who was a reserve champion at our local fair, Butch, and Princess to name a few. Believe me there were many more.

It seemed just like yesterday, as Mrs. Balliew and her crowd watched those two fellows Butch and Killer being hatched, hoping to learn more about Mother Nature and how such miracles happens. Everyone marveled at how cute and fuzzy they and their brother and sister baby chicks were, patted them on the head, not thinking that both were going to grow up and be a couple more of our pet watch roosters.

Pets that in a short while were being carried like babies, being fed things like candy, hot dogs, ice cream, French fries, chili, lollipops, popcorn, pizza, and bubble gum.

They eventually learned to eat one food that could possibly have been their own downfall, “dog food” that had been left for Sam our Labrador retriever. They developed what would be described as a life threatening, wild craving habit, when they would sneak up, catch Sam sleeping or just not paying attention, dash in and get a couple of nibbles, and just as fast dash away.

Sam would always show his disapproval by barking and chasing them until his chain length stopped him - Butch and Killer knew that spot like there was a line drawn there.

Mrs. Balliew and her girls noticed and told me. One day Sam’s chain was broken and a couple of Killer’s tail feathers were lying in the driveway next to Sam’s house. They wondered why a very healthy and quick rooster would shed tail feathers in that spot, or could that boy just be losing his speed, or did the chain have any thing to do with it?

We knew where and when these two picked up that dangerous habit, from their Grandpa “Billy Bad” who was a master at the snatch and go, until he got caught by Sam and taught a lesson.

I don’t think all of his flight feathers ever grew back. I know for a fact that Butch and Killer had turned out to be petty thieves and would be disowned by most of their Grandmas and Grandpas, after seeing the way their grandsons turned out.

Mrs. Balliew and the girls believed as in all families, there are a few family members who would turn out to be bad eggs—or maybe they thought it could be an unfortunate stroke of bad genetics.

I can remember a few times where I noticed there was an indication of very erratic behavior or mental problems in our strain of All-American Chickens. For instance, there was a Great Grandpa named Rhode Island Red who was noted for his speed in our driveway when chasing kids on scooters and bicycles.

When he got both of his feet run over by “Marv” Smith, I guess he decided to quit that stuff. He was never seen chasing another bicycle, even after he stopped limping. Mrs. Balliew and the girls told me that they hadn’t realized how important the lesson Red had learned from reckless drivers like “Country Boy” Higgins and “Marv” Smith or his sore foot until they saw those two boys on their bikes, one hot summer afternoon come around the corner of our house not seeing Red standing in the shade, minding his own business.

The two nearly hit a startled Red, causing him to take flight. They thought there was no doubt Red set a downhill chicken flying record of about 30 yards, making a belly landing and rolling head-over-heels another 10 yards before gaining his composure and control, then making a dash for the safety of our door doorsteps. They knew then and there that Red had remembered reckless Marv and Country Boy and his swollen toes.

I can remember a Great Grandpa Butch and Killer had several years before named “Bard Rock.” We called him Rocky for short. It was well known that Mr. Rocky thought he was cock of the walk, especially when he would hop on the seat of my riding mower after it stopped, drop a wing, strut around, and crow a couple of times before hopping down.

He was smart enough to stop that stuff after he hopped up one day, almost missed the seat, skipped and landed on the hot exhaust muffler. Mrs. Balliew and her girls had another limper for a while, but no more lawnmower crowing.

Rocky would act as though he didn’t care for mowers any more; he was always being observed hiding in the shrubs until all mowing had ceased.

I guess the straw that broke our watch chickens Butch and Killer’s backs was when they were in the driveway watching for a car to chase. Losing interest in chasing cars, they ventured into Mrs. Balliew’s and the girl’s flower garden and were having a jolly ol’ time kicking and scratching dirt onto the sidewalk, not to mention a couple of just-planted zinnias.

On that sunny afternoon I had just arrived home, was turning into the driveway and had the opportunity to see how desperate a situation our two prize winners had gotten themselves into that time. I couldn’t hear what Mrs. Balliew was saying, but I could see the fire in her eyes and as those two crossed in front of the car with wings flapping and feet occasionally touching the pavement looking over their shoulders.

I have no doubt hearing the girls screaming, seeing that swinging broom in Mrs. Balliew’s hands looked like a horrible winged demon slapping the ground, just missing their heels was a harrow experience.

I don’t believe they saw my car, but the horn blowing must have made that instant worse, indicated by the way they went out of sight, running like they were in fear of death, or worse. Mrs. Balliew turned, looked at me and said, with arm raised and two fingers pointing up saying “Strike two.”

Let there be no doubt, another one of her wishes came true that evening. Our two famous watch rooster gardeners were now in their chicken coop awaiting their fate.

Butch we know had been invited to one of our friends for a while; if he was liked and there are any little Butches arriving later, he will have a permanent home. Killer was to stay and maybe see several little Killers he would know were his offsprings.

For the next few weeks each time I walked by their coop I saw two depressed fellows pacing back and forth, looking pitiful, and wishing they could get out of there. I thought who knows, Mrs. Balliew and several of the girls will be going out of town this weekend.

Those two boys’ wish could come true for a short while. We are going to have a couple of our old buddies over for a visit; Mr. Butch and Killer would have a good time dropping a wing strutting and chasing around like old times. But right then that was just a thought.

I thought something bad could happen and I might be found out by the lady who makes wishes come true. Even old roosters like myself knew what strike three meant and when I could have been in some sort of real danger, maybe even from a swinging broom, who knows, I decided not to find out.

We still have one rooster and a hen which are the offspring of the originals that Mrs. Balliew and the Girls hatched about 20 years ago. Who knows, maybe we will let them out of their coop since our vegetable garden is finished for the year, to see if they have retained any of the original watch chicken traits.

Mrs. Inez “Mama” Balliew passed away on Jan. 10, 1998 and is still in hundreds of her children’s thoughts. Many of those hundreds of troubled children she came in contact, lovingly called her Mama.

I guess it started when the young people heard me calling her that name. I can’t remember calling her by her first name many times, just “Mama.”

All of us who still love and miss her know she is our guardian angel. We all know everyone who came in contact with her loved her because they could feel her love, which was genuine - a gift very few people possess.

This community is a far better place because God placed Inez “Mama” Balliew on one of His missions here.

back to top of page