A cock. A non-castrated capon. A cockerel. A reptilian, evil bastard.
His siren call would come before sunrise, echoing up the mountainside and back down again. And rush in, with piercing cock-a-doodle-do gusts into my room. My eyes, wide open, stare at ceiling. I shiver. The S.O.B. grabbed the psychological edge at 5:30 am.
His battle lines were indisputable. His was the coop. Yours was outside. You crossed the demarcation line, the clink of the metal hook on the dilapidated wooden door, and he was coming.
He attacked all comers. He feared no one. All generations buckled: Deda, Father, and his pubescent sons.
He could smell Fear. The perspiration would stream and thicken in the soft armpits tasked with gathering eggs in a red, long-handled, five pound Maxwell House coffee can. Good to the last drop!
His flock of fifteen continued foraging, unfazed by the battle preparations.
There was no confusion as to the storyline, there were no skipped scenes. You come through that door, he was coming.
The short handled wood broom stood by the outhouse, all seasons. Its bristles were synched together with a galvanized mental strap. They were thick, matted, and stone-hard. The ash handle was silky smooth, the result of thousands of multi-generational hand-to-handle re-grips polishing it to a chestnut colored sheen. The barn yard tool was retired for a single purpose.
I lift the key latch from the hook.
I take a deep breath.
I re-grip the broom handle.
The hens clear out.
And here he comes. Eyes locked on mine.
Let’s go you nasty Son-of-a-Bitch.
Let’s go.
Photograph: Four Doxn
Live & Learn 
Ok, you’re still here….um, the cocky s.o.b? What happened to him?
LikeLiked by 1 person
He’s still scrapping, somewhere. 🙂
LikeLike
Eggs for breakfast!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Yes…know all about that SOB. Had one of my own. Once.Nasty piece of poultry that.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Laughing…
LikeLike
I hated the chickens on our farm when I was growing up. It wasn’t just the rooster that was mean, they all were. Now I wonder if they were deranged from being cooped up. Are free-range chickens any nicer?
LikeLiked by 1 person
You’ll find many sympathizers on disliking chickens but I’m not in that camp. While I found them odd, generally they were gentle. As to free range vs. cooped, sorry, couldn’t tell you.
LikeLike
It was a hypothetical. No chickens are nice.
LikeLiked by 1 person
All that and the mascot for Carolina Football……
LikeLiked by 1 person
Our Rooster had a wee bit more success during his day. 🙂
LikeLike
Ouch
LikeLiked by 1 person
Just like our village, with over 500 roosters – we had 15 last year, all going at it in unison. Unlike the films, where they crow strictly at sun-up, most roosters crow every 4 hours, all around the clock, whether that be 2am or whatever 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
Wow, 500 roosters. When that bell rings, it’s ringing. Didn’t know they crowed every 4 hours. Thanks for sharing.
LikeLiked by 1 person
I love the visuals of this story.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks Carolann.
LikeLike
They make for excellent trout flies. Three letters pal K F C…
LikeLiked by 1 person
Nice! 🙂
LikeLike
I remember him well! He was the original Rocky. You could whack him with that broom and he would keep coming back for more. I don’t think you could have made a soup out of him!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Yep, the memories left scars on all of us. Devil was unstoppable no matter how many blows.
LikeLike
Reading your blog has become a favorite part of my morning routine – it’s like a breakfast treat! Thank you for making me laugh, cry and think.
This story is the reason we don’t have a rooster! 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
Awwww Catherine, you made my day. Thanks so much for your kind words.
LikeLike
Too many robust foxes roaming around where I live for a rooster to survive long in a free-range situation. There was a rooster that used to indulge in the four-hourly siren call, but he seems to have fallen oddly silent since the festive season. Maybe he ended up being served for Christmas dinner — either for his owners or for Mr Fox and his hungry vixen.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Sounds like you live in a wild life refuge Sarah. Not much will get past foxes. Wily devils.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Great story, DK! Took me back to my grandparents’ farm, where my granny and I would march out to collect the eggs in the morning and she’d promise the old rooster that he’s be stew
LikeLiked by 1 person
Make that *’he’d* be stew if he didn’t back off. Doggone finger slipped…
LikeLike
Thanks Lori. Smiling. Yep, roosters all constructed with same DNA, fierce, protect, attack.
LikeLike
Been there.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Is it no wonder then that the rooster is the animal of Mars, the warrior!!!!!
LikeLiked by 1 person
I didn’t know that! (That the rooster is the animal of Mars!)
LikeLike
Vedic Astrology, “Jyotish” recognizes the fire of the warrior, hence, some cultures who engage in “cock” fights!!!!!
LikeLiked by 1 person
This brings back a bad memory.
When I was a kid my family and I spent a week’s vacation on a farm. The bulk of the experience was great except for the first night. Mom had made dinner for us-burgers and fries. I decided I wanted to eat my dinner outside near the barn to watch the animals. Not long after, I screamed for my mom; a rooster was attacking me for my meal. So to escape any harm I tossed it to him. It was then I knew how it felt to have a bully at school take your lunch money.
-Alan
LikeLiked by 1 person
Wow, that’s quite an experience. Now that rooster was aggressive. Thanks for sharing Alan. Never encountered anything like that…
LikeLike
Lol…we had pet ducks at one time, a male and a female. The male was really mean and the only one who could go near him was my daughter (she was only 9!). There were many times that people could be heard screaming Janie’s name out so that she could go to the rescue. I lost both sandals running away from him one day!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Wow, your daughter was fearless. And I think that animals can sense that.
LikeLike
My daughter IS fearless…that is true. She even taught both ducks how to fly by putting one on her shoulder, running, and then letting the duck go. She’s fearless like her dad (her dad who was both fearless AND reckless). I’ve tried to teach Janie to not be reckless so that she doesn’t destroy everything in her path (like that other person). Anyway, another story having nothing to do with roosters or ducks. 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
A duck whisperer?
LikeLiked by 1 person
A duck whisperer…yes. It was kind of weird really that the male duck hated everyone except Janie and she was so young. I have the funniest memories of people running from that duck and screaming for Janie. I remember one of my friends madly swinging her purse trying to defend herself and Janie just very calmly walks out and picks up the wild duck. The female duck was the sweetest duck ever (her name was Diamond, the male was Sapphire, named by Janie). Anyway, duck stories. 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
LOVE THIS STORY. Still smiling.
LikeLiked by 1 person
He’s doing a great job. I wouldn’t take kindly to you coming at me with a broom either!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Friend, this devil had the upper hand all the time despite being outweighed by 5x. He punched above his weight class – way above.
LikeLiked by 1 person
foghorn leghorn’s dark side.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Awwww Foghorn. That’s brings back memories. Although foghorn was so much gentler and fun!
LikeLike
The flip side of being in charge. Hold your ground against broom wielding opponents or lose. It’s that simple, David. Loved it.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Smiling. That’s right Helen. Thanks.
LikeLiked by 1 person