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GEOCOCCYX by Charles Chupp  Through minimum effort on my part I became a provider for a horde of hummingbirds in the season just past. Details of how and why Poverty Sink became a smorgasbord for these tiny avian creatures —and how Chihuahuas worked their magic on me—is of scant interest to you most likely, so the trigger for having me cook off batches of red dyed sugar water will remain shrouded in mystery. Anyways, there’s another thing I have fretted over for years, and the chaparral cock is an amazing quirk that I’ve not been able to cipher out. It’s been an investigation that has been a thorn in my side for lo these many years. Back in 1983, the Texas Art Circles magazine printed an article of mine that you may have missed, so here’s a rerun. Should you have any information that might comfort me—I’d welcome your testimony. My old buddy, Buford, gave his deposition to me long ago, but Buford has no reason to tell me the truth. As I applied the finishing touches to a pen and ink commission of a Geococcyx, it occurred to me that I’d never seen, in all my put-togethers, anything short of an adult of that specie. “Zounds!” I expostulated to no one in particular. Inquiring around, I was surprised to discover that nary a one of my friends or acquaintances could testify to ever having beheld a little ’un. “Now, ain’t that remarkable?” I asked my wife. “Young geococcyx are as rare as lawyers in Heaven!” “Don’t bug me!” she instructed. “You’ve apparently mistaken me for someone who cares.” They are all the same size and color. Their behavioral pattern does not vary a whit from one to the other. Their number is legion, and their presence is epidemic. 177 “I’ll do a family portrait of that lily’ ol’ terrestrial!” I vowed with solemnity. “I’ll show the mama and the papa and their offspring in all their radiant beauty. I will then go to print, thereby garnering a substantial chunk of the art market, merit the plaudits of my fellow artists, and make a nice piece of change to boot!” My struggle for edification on the subject eventually led my flagging footsteps to the home of my good friend Buford. Buford was in his front yard. He was busying himself by drilling holes in a railroad cross tie with his brace and bit (one of his hobbies). He stopped, lit the wrong end of a Winston, and after a few draws, told me an astounding story. “I’ve seen many a young Geococcyx in my time,” he started, “but not many folks know where and when to find ’em. They hatch from eggs, of course.” “I had that figgered out,” I responded as I moved back a little. The smoldering filter was emitting fumes that were hard on my sinuses. “Welsir,” Buford continued, “they all see daylight on the west slope of a tall dune out near Monahans, Texas. “The mama lays them eggs in the spring when the sand reaches the exact temperature of 85 degrees. “Naturally, them eggs start rolling down that dune as soon as they’re layed, but they roll slow and gentle, thereby maintaining an incubating temperature for that little ol’ geo-coccyx. “It takes that egg 23 days to hatch out, but it’s a 30 day roll down that dune. “When that little bugger hatches out, he’s awful dizzy and about the size of a Bic lighter. Since he’s still on a slope of hot sand, he hits the ground arunning, and he runs at such a tremendous speed that he’s invisible to the human eye until he reaches his full growth. 178 Books, Papers, and Presentations: Texas Folklore Scholarship “Once they get away from that hot sand and their feet toughen up a little, they’re full growed, and they begin to slow down and even stop once in a while. And that’s when you’re able to see ’em. “They keep doing wind sprints their whole life, though, because like the salmon, they know they’re gonna hafta run back out to Monahans in the sweet by and by to perpetuate their own kind.” Buford inhaled the last draw of his filter, dropped the cigarette to the ground, and promptly dropped beside it. His eyes rolled in concentric circles for an instant, but...

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