City Citation Nothing to Crow About
June 9 | Hmmm...No Comments Yet
I like to crow about my accomplishments. Take for instance last night. Not only did I sleep through the night without having to be let out to pee, but I also managed to do it while squeezed in position “A” on the master bed.
For those of you not in the know about position “A”, it is the space in between your owner’s heads, and right on top of the cushy down pillows. It’s preferable to lay horizontal, thereby creating a larger distance between your owners, although a traditional curled up formation also works quite nicely.
Once you’ve done this you quickly realize dog beds are for canines that aren’t you.
And as for sleeping through the night without having to go wee wee, I can’t stress enough the minor miracle that was considering the enlarged prostate I possess. Ask any aging dog about this and they’ll agree it’s ok to “cock-a-doodle-doo!!” that accomplishment. It’s rare and deserves a celebration.
But I know when to crow, when to bark and when to shut the heck up. But this is not the case for Mr. Clucky, a bike riding rooster living the life in South Beach. I’ll let the Miami Herald fill you in on the details.
In the live-and-let-live annals of Miami Beach, the city has embraced a disparate cast of characters: the cross-dressing former cabbie who jives to ’60s hits for change; the woman who walks her iguanas in a pram built for two; and the middle-aged man who makes custom paintings with his toes, to name a few.
But you have to draw the line somewhere, and so the city has decreed that Mr. Clucky — the bike-riding rooster known for weaving his way through the laid-back crowds at Lincoln Road Mall — must go.
The morning of May 27, a code enforcement officer showed up at owner Mark Buckley’s Jefferson Avenue studio apartment, where the bird sleeps in the closet.
‘He said, `Don’t shoot the messenger. I love Mr. Clucky,’ ” said Buckley, who rescued the battered, 6 ½-pound animal more than two years ago from the streets. The officer took a photo of the bird and his female companion, a homebound black hen named Wallflower, and handed over a ticket.
Someone had complained, presumably about the rooster’s habit of crowing every morning at 6 a.m. sharp. The city had to investigate.
The charge: keeping farm animals. The punishment: a $50 fine. Buckley was given 10 days to get rid of the chickens or appeal. But the 54-year-old construction worker who props the bird on the handlebars of his red Schwinn as he — Buckley, not the rooster — pedals the beach is not backing down.
”What are they going to do?” asked Buckley, whose passenger has graced ds for animal activist causes, not to mention thousands of tourist photos, becoming an unofficial city mascot.
The animal has his own website — www.mrclucky.com — and MySpace page.
South Beach is known today for its exclusive dance clubs, haute cuisine and chiseled bodies, but at one point, the buzz was more about its eccentricity.
”Everybody used to have a Mr. Clucky of some kind,” said Brian Antoni, a 20-year Miami Beach resident and author of South Beach: The Novel.
These folks think Mr. Clucky is eccentric? They should try living with my parents for a few days.