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Lawn Ornaments Walker once bragged that there were not enough good fighting chickens in the world. He was messing with the other owners. He liked to rub it in. At the last fight night, his birds won every bout except two, and they won him over a thousand dollars. Even though cockfighting was illegal in Grange County, everyone knew what Walker was doing. The 50-gallon drums and the roosters had been a fixture in his front yard for years. About 5:30 a.m. the chorus of crowing began. An hour later, Walker Hayes finished the breakfast that his daughter, Sissy, cooked for him, then wandered out to the front yard and plopped into his lawn chair with green webbing. There he sat among his prize roosters, most of which had stopped crowing, and chewed tobacco, and spit tobacco, and sat some more. About mid-morning, Sissy appeared with chicken feed and carefully walked from barrel to barrel, dropping feed and pouring water into bowls for each bird. She was careful because each cock’s space was its own, and they had no problem pecking the hand that fed them. As Sissy worked, Walker sat in his chair recollecting old bouts, daydreaming, and watching her. He knew that she loved the birds, and in their own way, they respected her. She was the one who learned how to train the birds to fight better. She was the one who planned a conditioning routine by running and swimming them. Only after the flock was tended did she offer to make him lunch. Usually, he had a glass of buttermilk and a ham sandwich. After lunch, Walker stayed sitting unless he had to go to the bathroom. Most afternoons, Sissy continued to work with the birds, but sometimes she went to town to shop. Every day at four o’clock she went back into the house to start cooking. About five o’clock, the smell of supper would stir him from his chair. As he walked in the door, he would call, “The table set yet?” Sissy never answered. She just nodded. At night before bed, Sissy went out and checked on the birds. Walker watched TV till the 11 o’clock news was over, and then he went to bed. The next day it would all start again. Occasionally, somebody complained about the birds. Nothing happened, until Mrs. Forsyth, from Naples, Florida, bought the mountainside lot that looked down on Walker Hayes and the sideways 50-gallon drums, and the roosters tethered to them spread out over the half-acre front yard.
This was the first fight they watched since Walker made the deal with the judge. Two birds were ready to go. Some guy from Anderson County held a huge brown bird. The other, Franklin’s, was mottled white and black. Even though it was smaller, the crowd around the ring could see that it was more muscular. The size of the new bird caused the betting to be even money.
Walker watched from his chair with interest as the new and expensive homes seemed to grow out of the ridgeline. One particular day after several hours of hearing chain saw buzzing, a deck slowly emerged from behind the fallen trees above him. He could see people walking back and forth. At one point, he thought he saw them pointing at him. Unconsciously, he raised his arm and waved. The first letter arrived in early April. It was somewhat polite, and it asked that the barrels and the birds be moved to the back of the house. Walker tore it into little pieces. When Sissy walked by, he grabbed her arm, threw the pieces into the feed bucket, and asked, “Hey, Sissy, do you know any Forsyth lady?” “No, Daddy.” “You ever see her, you tell her to mind her own God damned business.” “Yes, Daddy.” Another letter followed via regular mail. Walker never opened it. Finally, Edgar, the mailman, presented Walker with a certified letter. After he signed for it, he told Edgar to take it back up the mountain and stick it up Mrs. Forsyth’s ass.
The stench of liquor and body odor mixed with the acrid smells of blood and feathers. The crowd crushed in around the ring. Somebody yelled, “Go!” Franklin and the guy from Anderson County released the birds. They both flew straight up off the ground.
Walker watched from his chair as Deputy Billy Carnes from the Sheriff’s Department got out of his cruiser. Billy and Walker were lifelong acquaintances. Billy’s dad was the sheriff. “Hey, Walker,” called the Deputy. “Hey, Billy,” Walker called back. “What you got in your hand?” “I’m sorry man. That crazy Forsyth woman is suing you. This is a subpoena to appear in court.” “What does Judge Wilson have to say about it?” “He’s not happy. But he has to hear the case.” “Maybe I’ll give him a call. Remind him of a few things.” “Do what you have to. Now, sign here, and I’ll be on my way.” “Tell your daddy I’ll see him at the fights on Friday.” “I’ll do that Walker. I’ll do it.”
As Franklin’s bird came down, it thrust its razor-covered spur into the neck of the visitor. Blood spurted everywhere. Sissy knew it was over, but the crowd continued to cheer.
Newly elected magistrate Judge Joe Wilson had been an attorney before he was elected. He could have been called an ambulance chaser except that his office was across the street from the emergency room. All the work came to him. If a car or ambulance pulled up, Joe was soon there, greeting and sympathizing. His biggest payday had been when he represented Walker Hayes v. Southerland General Hospital. The claim was that Walker’s wife, Cassey, had died in childbirth due to “gross neglect and improper treatment by the hospital staff.” The true story was that she bled to death on the side of the road because Walker declined a ride from a family driving in a Ford F-150 truck. He hated Fords. About 20 minutes after they turned down the ride, Cassey started labor and began to bleed. She was almost dead before he flagged down Harold Meyers to take them to the hospital. Somehow the baby survived. Joe Wilson was outside the emergency room one minute after the Walkers pulled up. Cassey’s tiny body was propped up in backseat of the car. Walker stood beside the back door, covered in blood, and holding the baby. Harold told Joe what he thought had happened. Joe said to Harold, “Go on over to the DQ and get some lunch. When you’re done, come over to my office. You’ve been a big help. I’ll pay for cleaning your car.” He reached into his pocket and took out a card and ten dollars and gave it to him. “Go on get out of here. There’ll be a few more dollars in it if you forget what happened here.” Then Joe turned to Walker. “Your wife is dead.” “I ain’t stupid.” “You want to make some money for you and the kid?” “I can’t keep this kid.” “Listen. When someone comes out that door, tell them you been here a long time waiting for help. Tell them she just stopped breathing. Act scared and concerned. Just keep saying, ‘Nobody would come out to help her. Nobody would come out to help her.’” While the case went through the courts, Walker and the baby lived with Cassey’s mother. If it had been up to Walker, he would have left the baby at the hospital. Twice he abandoned the baby with his mother-in-law, but Joe convinced him to come back assuring him that the payoff would be much bigger if the baby was with him. “Most juries sympathize with small motherless children,” Joe told Walker. Walker made no effort to help with the child. The baby’s name was even a mistake. When the nurse was filling out the birth certificate, Walker mumbled every answer. The poor nurse got tired of asking him to repeat and wrote down what she thought he said, “Sissy.” When he saw the name on the crib, he complained to the nurse that the baby was supposed to be named after its mother. The nurse explained how difficult it would be to correct the name, and he said, “Oh, what the hell. It don’t matter anyway.” Eventually, the hospital settled for $400,000. Joe Wilson got half. Walker bought a small house and two acres of land. Walker’s mother-in-law moved in and cared for them every day for the next ten years. She was the one who bought Walker his chair and placed it in the front yard. He overheard her telling somebody on the phone, “It keeps him outside and out of the way.” One day she drove up, took a small cage from the back of her truck, and released about 20 chicken peeps into the yard. On the way past Walker, she threw him a bag of chicken feed. Without breaking stride, she said, “If you can find the energy, throw them birds some food every morning.” The peeps grew fast. All of them were hens except for two roosters. Walker enjoyed watching the flock rummage around the yard. He especially liked it when the two roosters started to squabble. He was at the Feed and Seed one morning, talking about his roosters, when George Archer mentioned, “Ya know we fight birds every month down at Crystal Springs. I’ll drop by next time and get ya. You can bring your biggest bird, and we’ll see what he can do.” As Walker put it, “That bird got its ass kicked in thirty seconds.” But he was hooked on cockfighting. Over the objections of his mother-in-law, the front yard slowly transformed to its present condition. She complained till she died of a stroke three days before Sissy’s tenth birthday. After about five more years and most of his money, he was barely getting by. He had managed to raise a couple of winners, but it was only after Sissy got older and helped him train the birds that they became almost unbeatable.
The bird from Anderson County was down a minute later. It was crumpled on the floor kicking its legs, but it was good as dead. Once Sissy heard of a bird that moved for a week after everyone said it was dead.
Two weeks before the first hearing date, Walker got around to contacting his lawyer. He was Joe Wilson’s old partner, Franklin Spears. During the conversation, Franklin made it abundantly clear that Joe Wilson didn’t want anything to do with the trial. He told Walker to go up the mountain and do whatever it took to make Mrs. Forsyth happy. “What do ya mean, make her happy? It’s my birds and stuff.” Walker complained. “You ya’ll better fix this or certain facts about an emergency room visit might come out.” “Come on Walker,” Franklin said. “That was over twenty years ago.” “What about last weekend when Joe Wilson won over five hundred dollars betting on my birds?” “If you can’t fix this Walker, there is going to be nothing but trouble for all of us. Go up that hill and find out what she wants.”
The guy from Anderson County picked up his dying bird by its feet, swung it around, and threw it over the heads of the crowd to a far corner of the barn. Sissy watched it spin like a slow moving propeller. Some drops of blood spattered unnoticed onto the cheering mob.
Sissy pulled up in front of the Forsyth house. Before Walker got out of the truck he bit off a wad of chew. “Wait here,” he said. As Walker went up the walk, he heard a gurgling sound, and he noticed a waterfall dripping into a small pond. Ferns and other plants surrounded the pool. Placed randomly around and in the water were several tall pink birds. “May I help you?” asked a good-looking, middle-aged woman as she stepped onto the porch. Walker turned and walked to the bottom of the porch steps. “May I help you?” she asked again. He looked up at her. She appeared startled and uneasy. Walker always got that reaction from strangers. He had a lazy eye, his left, which was frozen looking out toward the side of his face. His right eye was always bloodshot. He liked to stare down people when he met them. He enjoyed their discomfort of looking at him. “I’m Walker Hayes. I come to work something out with you about my birds.” “I see.” “Well, what do you want?” “As my letters stated, I wanted your coops and birds moved to your backyard. However, I have since learned that you train your birds to fight and kill. I think it would be best if you just got rid of them and cleaned up that trash in your yard.” Walker thought about running up the steps and punching the snooty lady. Then he remembered Sissy sitting in the car. He stood there clenching and unclenching his fists. She stepped back inside the doorway and pulled the screen door between them. Walker continued, “If you hadn’t chopped all those trees down, you couldn’t even see my place. You Florida people come up here every spring and scat out of here first little cold snap. I was here first.” “That may be true. But you are breaking the law. Get rid of those roosters and clean up your trashy yard or we’ll call the police.” “When hell freezes, lady.” She closed the screen door all the way. Walker continued, “What about them ugly birds you got in your yard?” “They’re not ugly and they’re not alive. They are lawn ornaments.” “What the hell kind of bird is tall, ugly, and shit pink?” “They’re a lovely color. They’re flamingos.” Sissy called from the truck, “Let’s go Daddy.” Walker spit a wad of tobacco juice on the bottom step. He took his finger and cleaned the rest of tobacco from the inside of his cheek, letting it fall on the walkway. He walked slowly to the truck. Just before he ducked inside, he called, “You don’t know who you’re screwing with lady.” But Mrs. Forsyth had already shut the door.
At the end of the night, all of the dead birds were stuffed into large black plastic bags. The man that owned the barn tossed them in a pile outside the door. Every now and then, something would move inside one of the bags. Sissy knew what it was. She pictured the brown bird squashed among the other birds sporadically kicking its legs.
On deposition day, Walker told Sissy to drive to Franklin Spark’s office. Franklin was in the hall when Walker walked in the door. “We’ve got a problem Walker,” he said. “Mrs. Forsyth called the State Police. It’s out of our hands.” “You call Joe Wilson right now.” “I don’t have to call him. He’s in my office.” Judge Wilson was sitting at a long table reading a book when they entered the room. He motioned for Walker and Franklin to sit. When they all were seated, he said, “I’m going to give it to you plain and simple Walker. We can’t win. Franklin told them your birds were pets, but the law permits no more than 3 per household. He argued that they were livestock, but farm animals have to be housed at least 100 yards from a domicile. Any way, they weren’t planning on compromising. They had already called in the State. They contend that you raise those birds for fighting.” “Well, no shit,” Walker said. The judge continued, “I had to protect myself and some other important people. We’re not going to have a political incident in this county. I’m afraid when you get home, your birds will be gone. It’s all I could do to keep you out of jail.” Walker just sat there quivering and getting redder by the second. The judge put his arm around Walker and said, “They gave you a whole month to get the barrels out of your yard.” Walker focused his good eye on the judge and said, “Ya’ll are gonna pay for this.” Franklin stood and said, “Don’t do anything crazy. We stuck our necks out to keep you out of jail. Give it time. I have some property not far from your house. You can set up there. In a little while, you and your birds will be kicking ass in the ring again. Now, sign this agreement saying you’ll get rid of those coops.” Walker was lightheaded and a little nauseated as he walked to the truck. “What’s wrong Daddy?” asked Sissy. “You drive me to the hardware store right now,” he ordered. “Yes Daddy.” At the store Walker bought some brushes, paint, and two-by-fours. They got home about dusk. “Where are our birds?” Sissy asked. “You go inside and fix supper.” Sissy started to cry. “Where are the birds?” By now, Walker was crying too. “The State took them. Ain’t nothing I can do. Now, go fix something to eat.” He went to his chair and sat down. Sissy collapsed sobbing on the front porch. He didn’t know what time it was when she finally got up and went in the house. Long after midnight, he finally went inside himself. The next morning, Walker skipped breakfast. He was still feeling sick, but he was determined. First he cut the lumber in different lengths. Some, he propped under barrels and some, he nailed to the ends. Then, he started painting everything. When he finished three days later, there were 47 bird-like statues in his front yard. Some were balanced on two long legs. On the ones that wouldn’t stay balanced, he added a third leg. When he got tired of lifting and balancing, he skipped the legs. Those birds appeared to be sitting on the ground. They all had long necks with small wooden heads, and they were all painted “shit” pink.
The bird was still kicking in the bag when Sissy returned at noon the following day. The movements were stronger and more frequent. She heard clucking sounds coming from the bag.
He was sitting in his chair among his fabricated birds when the State Police arrived a month later. One of the officers asked, “You Walker Hayes?” “Yes Sir.” “These chicken coops were supposed to be gone by now.” “These ain’t chicken coops. These are lawn ornaments. A lady up on the mountain gave me the idea.” He paused and pointed up toward the ridge. “No sir. You need to have live chickens for these to be chicken coops. These here are lawn ornaments.” One officer said to the other, “What do you think?” The other answered, “I don’t see any chickens, and I don’t see any chicken coops. Let’s go.” Walker relaxed in his chair. It went much easier than he thought it would. A short time later, Sissy walked by him carrying the mail. “Our check in there from Judge Wilson?” he asked. Going toward the house, she answered “Yes, sir. A thousand dollars.” Franklin had reneged on the deal for Walker to raise birds on his land. The Judge called a meeting for all three of them. At first, Walker was furious. “You’re just trying to get rid of your competition,” he screamed. “You’re not any competition. If it wasn’t for Sissy, you’d have been broke years ago.” Walker lunged at Franklin. The Judge had to step between them. “You boys calm down,” he warned. “I’m sure we can work this out.” After Walker threatened to name names and places, they agreed that a thousand dollars every two weeks would cover his losses. Joe Wilson told him, “This is good money Walker. You and the girl can get by real good. No more roosters. No more fights. You can just sit in your chair and enjoy the day.”
Sissy tore a hole in the bag. Before she could reach in, the brown bird poked its head out. She tore a bigger hole and pulled out the rooster. It settled into her arms chirping softly. She took it to the truck, and drove all the way home with it sitting on the seat between her legs.
Walker continued to go out and sit in his chair every morning. Mostly, he sat and examined his motionless flock. One day later in the summer, he called to Sissy to bring out the paint and a brush. “Go over to that one bird. The paint is peeling.” He pointed toward the road. As she wandered in the direction he was pointing, he told her to hurry because he saw her damn brown rooster running through the yard, and he didn’t want anyone to see it. After she finished painting, she rushed across the yard and snatched up the rooster from inside one of the barrels. Holding it, she stroked its back, and said, “I miss it. I miss the fights and the birds, mostly the birds, but I like them better when they’re not fighting.” Walker liked it better too. His new birds were quiet, they didn’t cost anything to keep, and the yard didn’t smell like chicken shit any more. He told her, “As long as the money keeps coming, I don’t care if I see another cockfight.” Then, he shifted his weight in the chair, and spit a wad of tobacco toward an ever-growing brown spot in the yard. “Tell me again, Daddy. What kind of birds did you make?” “They’re flamingos.” “What kind of noises do flamingos make?” Walker sat thinking. Using the back of his hand, he wiped away some tobacco juice that had dribbled down his chin. Then, he looked up the mountain to where the Forsyth’s deck jutted out. He wasn’t sure if anyone was looking, but he raised his arm and waved. Finally, he answered Sissy’s question, “I don’t know. I just don’t know.”
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