The Rooster Crows at Midnight

Things don't always work out the way you want. I used to own three chickens and a rooster. They lived in a coop we built in our backyard and I loved them. Except the rooster. Every night I would have to put the rooster in one of those carriers you put your cats in to travel or go to the vet or something, and then put him in the garage. This was necessary because apparently the neighbors didn't enjoy being awoken at the crack of dawn by the screechy crowing of a flea infested farm bird. The combined muffling of the cat carrier, the blanket over the cat carrier, and the garage itself was enough to keep the neighbors from complaining about the noise.

The rooster quite clearly resented this situation and he let me know it. This bird I speak of was born straight from the depths of hell. His feathers were preened and groomed by the devil himself, I am sure. Every night, when I would go to collect the rooster I had to arm my self with plastic whiffle bat. It was the only thing the infernal buzzard was afraid of. Sometimes though, I didn't have the bat and I was forced to face that fowl beast one on one, my physical prowess against his. (Which was considerable, especially in comparison to a chubby 11 year old.)

He would spread his ugly black wings and cluck various chicken threats directed at me. I would shakily stand my ground for about 10 seconds before the rooster, smelling my fear, would bull rush me and commence its attack on my calves.

I would run away in complete and horrendous terror, never looking looking back at the beast that was no doubt, right behind me. I would have to make it to the stair case leading to the back door because once there, he wasn't able to follow me. I knew though, that just like his ancestor the velociraptor, the rooster would soon learn how to climb the steps, open the back door, find me where I slept, and pluck my eyes out. This fear paralyzed me.

My father, Floyd, turned this into a teaching moment.

"Son" he said, "All you have to do is look that rooster in the eye and say 'NO!' when he tries to come at you and he will back off. Trust me."

For some reason I trusted him.

He ushered me out the back door and sent me to the back of the garage to face my enemy. I walked out there with all the confidence of a 12 year old girl going to hang out with boys for the first time. (in retrospect, it was wayyyyy too much lip gloss.)

I opened the door of the coop.

There he was. standing stock still, as if he had been waiting for me. Our eyes locked and he slowly spread his wings. The exchange went like this:

Rooster: "Can I help you?"(He took a few steps forward.)

Me: "No!" (very forcibly)

Rooster: "Excuse me?"(a few more steps forward)

Me: "No!" (still strong, but fear beginning to creep in)

Rooster: "I'm sorry, I'm just having a very hard time hearing you."(more steps)

Me: "No!" (almost no strength left, mostly fear)

Rooster: "Oh you're saying no to me? is that it? is that what you're saying?" (he moved even closer)

Me: "No?" (No strength, absolute fear)

Rooster: "I"M GOING TO KILL YOU!!!"

I turned and ran as the devil-bird launched his attack. It was a race for the back staircase. Man vs. Beast, beast having the upper hand. I could see my Father standing at the top of the stairs, looking utterly shocked that his strategy had somehow failed. I was less than 5 feet from safety (about 1.5 meters for my European readers) when the rooster launched himself and with the precision of a laser guided missile, embedded his beak into the back of my leg. I had lost.

I limped up the stairs to where my father was standing. An awkward moment passed as we stood there not saying anything and blood trickled down my leg. I think he was trying not to laugh. I just shook my head and went inside.

After that I would periodically "forget" to get the rooster out of the garage in the mornings after he was done crowing. Also I learned that actions speak much louder than words because a few well placed kicks when he wasn't looking kept the incidents to a minimum from thereon out.

Eventually we sent the rooster to live on our cousin's farm where it was consequently eaten by a coyote. Sweet sweet justice.

Members of PETA can send their emails here: shutup@beefisdelicious.com

Everyone else here: jwalters@thesneakynarwhal.com