There's nothing like getting your day waylaid by unexpected events.
Last week, we lost two chickens to some predator. One was a laying hen, and the other was my favorite young rooster. He was pretty: golden brown and grey with a beard. He wasn't shy, always clambering in my way when I was trying to feed the chickens, which could be a little annoying, but I could easily pick him up and he wouldn't struggle to free himself from my hold. It's nice to have a nice rooster around.
A week before this tragedy, one of Chris's friends had offered us a rooster. He liked the roo, but having a crowing bird in a neighborhood wasn't working out for him. I wasn't too sure about the deal, since we had plenty of roosters of our own. But when my roo got killed, Finley was pretty torn up about it, so I thought this rooster might work out after all.
We went to pick him up last Friday, and when I saw him, I was in shock. This boy was a beast. I mean, he was BIG. I was hoping for a roo that Finley could handle, but if he was nice enough, I supposed it would be alright. His name was Big Papi, named after David Ortiz, the baseball player. The kids were excited about having a new rooster around.
All was fine until today. I was out hanging up the laundry, when Z came outside. She made it halfway to me and the clothesline, when all of a sudden, Big Papi up and pecked her leg. Now, sometimes, a chicken will peck at your clothes or toes if it looks like there might be something to eat, but Z was wearing nothing that looked like chicken food, and there was nothing stuck to her legs that might even suggest food. Maybe this chicken was just dumb, I thought. I made sure Z wasn't too traumatized, then went out to finish hanging up the laundry.
A few minutes later, Big Papi came wandering over. He sidled right up to my feet and took a peck at my shoe. Nothing to eat there, buddy, I thought at him. Then he pecked it again. And again. I slid to the side; he pecked at my shoe laces. I was starting to get annoyed, when all of a sudden, he backed up, fluffed up, and charged my leg. I shoved him off, and with his next charge, as I was trying to kick him away, I fell backward onto the ground. Cuss words flew from my mouth (the ground is not where I wanted to be at this point), and I scrambled to my feet, then managed to get one solid kick on him when he charged again. He finally backed off, and I went inside, shaking with the adrenaline rush.
It's a good thing I don't know there the shotgun and buckshot are (if we have any). He might be dead.
So now I have wasted a good hour trying to catch the (insert nasty word here) to lock him up so we don't have to be afraid to go outside.
It sucks to be bullied. Even if it is by a chicken.
1 comment:
When I was a girl we had a beautiful rooster, but he was really mean. After constant attacks, my dad decided that even though he looked so fine, his time was up.
The story still surfaces around the dinner table, of the day dad shot the rooster. That proud beast took the first hit in the chest, and kept standing, defiant, glaring at my dad, only falling with the second shot. Even dying he was determined to be unbeaten!
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