Welcome to Scribd. Sign in or start your free trial to enjoy unlimited e-books, audiobooks & documents.Find out more
Standard view
Full view
of .
Look up keyword
Like this
0 of .
Results for:
No results containing your search query
P. 1
A Fowl Challenge Final

A Fowl Challenge Final

|Views: 16|Likes:
Published by Dale Lobo

More info:

Published by: Dale Lobo on Dec 07, 2012
Copyright:Attribution Non-commercial


Read on Scribd mobile: iPhone, iPad and Android.
download as DOCX, PDF, TXT or read online from Scribd
See more
See less





Dale LoboMultimedia and RhetoricAngel MatosSection 69/22/12A Fowl Challenge
*Rooster call
* There I stood motionless, blood seeping from my right arm,watching the triumphant Rooster scramble to freedom. Rooster 1. Dale 0. I would neverhave thought that my course in neurophysiology would turn out to be so much simplerthan catching a Rooster. And as if the pain was not enough, I began to believe theRooster was a sadist as he stood outside my reach, and taunted me. Tending to mywounds would have to wait as I weighed my options and calculated a new plan of attack.
“Man is the more intelligent species,” I told myself,
I would emerge the victor in the nextround.The Rooster-catching challenge was not the first time I had faced such an unusualtask: testing myself in new ways has become an enjoyable way to expand my knowledge.I was assigned this new task while volunteering with my church in Honduras, on the
 for orphans; the experience challenged me in ways that I would otherwisenot be able to. Having been raised a competitive athlete,
I couldn’t just give up to a
winged-farm creature. No, this was embarrassing. It was just the fact that the task seemedso rustic and trivial
 —and that I couldn’t complete it? Of course I’d have to face thatcockeyed Rooster again! I don’t believe in reven
ge but I refused to be the loser in aforeign land.
Defeat is not in my repertoire so I enlisted the expertise of a young boy namedCarlos
a pundit in the field, to assist me in returning the sadist to his coop with the restof the cordial, calm hens. I stood in awe as the seven-year-old Honduran predatorswooped up a hen with ease and cradled her in his arms. It was my turn. I ran after theRooster clumsily, flailing my arms attempting to subdue him. Carlos laugheduncontrollably as my pursuit was fruitless. I stood in the dirt outside the chickenenclosure we had just built. That small, tan, dark haired boy seemed so mistakenly naïve,yet he was so skilled. Growing up in a different culture, I completely misjudged hisintelligence due to his physical appearance. On this foreign farm, I was the clueless child.By meeting Carlos, with his distinct contagious smile and missing tooth, I had actuallyensured my survival for the upcoming two weeks. Around him everything was so green.Even on a cloudy day the tall coconut and mango tree branches swayed happily. Thewind, birds, and the barely audible crash of the waves behind the
these soothingsounds of the island kept me from breaking down in frustration at my failure. Rooster 2.Dale 0.But it was time for
a banana break. “
Venga a mi casa
”. Getting accustomed to his
erratic behavior I agreed to meet him and obediently followed at a distance. Dark cloudswere gathering overhead and I leaned on the large mango tree on the dirt path in front of his house. *
* Ok a mango fell.
another one down. I panicked. I was afraid of being held responsible for destroying part of their food supply, I walked awayinconspicuously, checking my back every few steps. Fortunately nobody was around todenounce my innocence and I began to circle the house. Shit! A pretty normal reaction togetting hit with a rock to the back of the head. There was that uncontrollable laughter
again, this time coming from up in the tree. Carlos was waving a machete…and with that
contagious s
mile, I just couldn’t be mad at him. What was it that made him different than
a 7-year-old in America? Or even my brother who was just one year older?
Carlos apologetically offered me the mango he threw, “
lo siento
”. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5,that’s how long it took 
for my lips to start burning. I later found out that the chemical
“urushiol” in ripe mangos has this swelling, itching, and burning effect on your lips. If only I waited 5 more seconds, I could’ve watched Carlos scrape the mango skin on the
bark of the mango tree to get the acid out. Again, as a child, I had to be taken care of by
. I was rushed inside the humble three-room dirt house. All I could do waslisten and obey. I sat on a chair in the small kitchen area. She operated on my mouth withsoap and water and a follow up treatment of honey. When I finally regained sensation inmy mouth I was still in shock. These people would be considered uneducated by anAmerican standard, yet here I was at their mercy
 —praying that Carlos’
might beable to deliver me from the torturous inferno upon my lips.Although I was still recovering, it was back to banana time for Carlos and I. Heled me through a forested part of the
that I had never encountered. It was awayfrom the beach, away from all the small dirt houses, away from the volunteers. Weentered a more dense area with dirt that caused my feet to slightly sink in with every step.We traveled further and were now completely surrounded by trees. These banana treeswere unlike anything I had seen in Florida. They had long broad leaves with multipleshort slits on each side, running perpendicular to the length of the leaf. And the way theyoung bananas were arranged was surreal: the perfectly sculpted bunches resembled agreen, tiered wedding cake hanging around the thick trunk.

You're Reading a Free Preview

/*********** DO NOT ALTER ANYTHING BELOW THIS LINE ! ************/ var s_code=s.t();if(s_code)document.write(s_code)//-->