Dark red scars are forming on my left hand and forearm where the thrust of the attack struck me. If left too long, I believe the cuts would fester and get worse. They’re the type that could cause that ugly yellow crust-like “deformity” to surround and create a horrific open wound.
The sonofabitch did this to me. Yeah, I just took his name in vain. The “Sumbitch” Rooster. Twice now he has “gone off” on me, and twice I felt he wanted to hurt me. Really hurt me. Like, in “deadly force” type hurt me. I think you call that part at the rear of a rooster’s claws “spurs.” Well, using those, as well as his deceivingly-looking “weak” legs, he attacked me drawing blood.
Why? Because he’s made that way, you say? To be protective of the two hens and what is appearing to be a chick turning into yet another rooster we have as pets? He pecks the hell out of them. They’re all afraid of him, and give way to him when he bullies his way to the feeding bowl or “scratches” for worms and other “nourishment” that might be found crawling on the ground of our backyard lawn.
Lawn? You ought to see it! It’s all brown and worn away where the “fowl” birds (was I redundant, well how about the “foul” birds, then?) have dug into the ground building spaces for “dirt baths” and “happy hunting grounds” for food found only in nature. They congregate beneath a large bushy tree that’s protected by a second bush covered with thorns. It’s an ideal hide-away from air-borne predators and possibly those found on the ground. I don’t know, like foxes or other natural-born chicken- affaciandos. Haven’t seen any of them around. Possum, yeah. A racoon, maybe. Skunk? Don’t remind me about the one that “sprayed” my old dog “Willie.” It took 22 baths of tomato juice and V-8 juice to get the little guy half-way acceptable, smell-wise, that is. Skunks gotta be good for some things, but not tangling with one’s favorite house-bound pooch.
Some say I read my human thoughts and feelings into animals, as if I could actually understand where they’re “coming from.” Anthropomorphizing, I think it’s called. But, I think I understand our “Sombitch.” (We change the spelling of the rooster’s name, depending on the gravity of his latest offense against humanity. “Sunbitch” is for when he is acting like a real “bastard.” “Sombitch” for when he’s more like one of our more lovable, clumsy but really stupid friends who has no reason to feel “cocky,” yet struts around as if he does.)
I had left the chickens out longer then the normal time I open their “trap door” to enter their chicken coop. It was cold. The rooster was “pissed.” He was angry, and lacked control and wanted to show his hurt as bluntly and as plainly as he knew how. Kinda like a child going through a temper tantrum. Only this “child” could cause real damage, and by the looks of my four cuts, he did.
The first time he went “berzerk” was when I had “forgotten” to let them into the chicken coop at night. I fell asleep. All migrated from the top of the hill near the coop to the bottom and climbed into a smaller bush closer to our house and protected more from the harsher winds that blow at the crest of the hill. None would let go of their perch. I hand-carried the chick and its mother-hen individually. Then after walking up and down the hill (great exercise, by the way), I returned and was able to get the rooster and the second hen bundled together in both arms. (We named the hens Hillary and Michelle. No politics involved, really. It was something my 17-year-old son and I came up with, I guess, because one is light and one is dark.)
The rooster attacked me when he got to the top of the hill, but did not “break skin” because of the jeans covering my left leg. Hurt like hell. I realized then that we named him well. Sombitch.
Proud protector, fearless fighter, stupid male.
Sound like any one we know, ladies?
Gotta luv ’em. Most of the time.
Contoveros 
[…] To Contoveros Share this:ShareStumbleUponTwitterLike this:LikeBe the first to like this […]
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[…] I heard nothing from outside. It was a pleasure. How long have I missed the beauty of stillness in the morning? How long had my neighbors put up with him every time they opened a window only to hear the stillness broken by the cracking of the rooster’s crow. Over and over again. (See rooster-racks-up-pain) […]
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[…] more bantam banter see Rooster racks up pain and admiration […]
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[…] Dedicated To Contoveros […]
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City slickers and their country cousins ought to know
How Roosters strut their stuff in front of pretty hens
In plumage preened and plumped to make a tougher show
Caring not a peck for the attention of their friends…
Keep a close eye on that banty rooster in the scratching yard,
Every city boy should learn before its way to late
Not to ever underestimate a chicken (or her mate).
*grin*
M.L.
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Words we never said:
Can not top this in a million years.
you win, ML!
(Actually, we all win with such a poetic addition to the yard.) thanks.
michael j
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You’re fun Michael J.
M.L.
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So
r
u
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*snicker*
Actually sounds like quite a few folks I know…
I wouldn’t be so quick to blame the poor fellow either, how do you know there wasn’t some chick behind the scene of your attack – (‘egging him’ perhaps?)
M.L.
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Behind every good man, there’s a good woman. Behind every bad rooster, there’s a “bad chick?”
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*low chuckle*
You look like you might be a man of experience Mr.Contoveros, have you not ever see this scenario play out in human life before?
A good woman can ‘make’ a man – no one will ever convince me otherwise because I have seen it too often to ignore or discount the power a good and loving woman can have over a man…
BUT –
A woman can also ruin a man who is good already if she uses his affections for her own selfish purposes.
So – yes – (in a way) if a rooster does the bidding of some’bad chick’ clucking in his ear she CAN and WILL be his downfall.
That would be my two cents 🙂
Be well,
M.L.
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“. . . Almost every piece I post has some therapeutic and/or autobiographical significance to me.
I write my truth because I have to . . .”
— ML
Was there someone behind you giving you support, or was there someone who used your affections for their “selfish purposes?”
Hey, what’s good for the goose should be good for the gander.
Rooster, hen. Get the idea?
Never mind.
I’m an old city boy, what do I know about the barnyard way of life?
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*smirk* a ‘city boy’ knows more about the barnyard way of life than he might think he does…
M.L.
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Is this my “country cousin” who’s calling?
Come now
. . .
Don’t
be
c
h
i
c
k
e
n
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One of the reasons I love birds so much is because they’re so loyal to and protective of their mates and families. And they know how to get their points across–to get what they and their families need, even if it’s from us big dumb humans. Sometimes I have to lift one of my doves off of an egg. I can tell that it goes against every instinct for him or her to allow me to touch (I’ll just say “her” here, although it can be either) her, and that she’s scared. But she will NOT move off of that egg unless I lift her up, and occasionally my “peaceful” white doves will even peck at me to keep me away from the egg. They lay all that fear aside to protect one egg that may not even be theirs, and may not even be fertile.
You’ve really got to respect that kind of devotion and selflessness…just another thing to learn from!
I think the “sumbitch” deserves his props! 🙂
Nancy
http://saradode.wordpress.com
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I don’t know why, but i see a lot of my Self in that rooster. He’s not afraid of going places where a “sane” bird would fear to tread. Hell, he “struts” in those places like he owns them.
Yeah, i admire him, but don’t let him know, cause it would get to his scrawny head. He’s cocky enough as it is.
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