So, it’s strike two for the rooster, the little, vicious one. He jumped me again today when we let them out in the yard.
The little bastard gives the camera the ‘hairy eye’.
I’ll start at the beginning….
A few weeks ago the littlest (but alpha) rooster attacked me while I was filling their food & water. He attacked, full on, talons out (look at photo for an idea of why that’s bad) and put several bleeding gashes in my right knee. I kicked him off, several times before he gave up the fight. In the end I’d had to kick him pretty hard to get him to stop attacking.
Look at the hook on the back of his leg!
He’s been pretty good since, staying out of my way, shooting me sulky looks. Odd thing is he’s not the biggest rooster in the chicken house. Seriously. He’s about 3/4 the size of the other black rooster and 1/2 the size of Pretty boy.
Today, we headed out to the coop, and as I rounded the corner of the garage, I spotted a 6 foot length of aluminum tubing. Although the rooster had been fine for weeks, something told me to bring it. I listen to my little voices… er, not in a weird way… you know what I mean! I brought the pipe!
Good thing too. The girls were acting a bit strange, didn’t want to come out into the yard, which is very odd. Usually they can’t wait to get out. So, I’m standing off to one side, 10-15 feet from the coop door, sorta clucking and ‘pretty girl, chick chick’ ing’, and eventually about 6 girls and the little bastard come out.
I watched him as he picked his way up the yard, about 3 feet from me, and went past me. Then I noticed that the girls were staying around the coop, again very odd. The white girl usually heads straight for the tall grass at the edge of the coop.
Maybe the little bastard had been bragging about his plans? I turned to see where he was just as he attacked. Again! his time he opened a big gash on my left leg, and may have nicked a blood vessel. I bled fairly badly and for about 1/2 hour.
Anyway, I hit it with the pole and knocked it about 3 feet away. I would’ve left it at that if he would’ve, but he wouldn’t. He fluffed up his neck ruff like the little dinosaurs on Jurassic Park and opened his mouth to hiss at me. Well, I’ve been here before (and saw Jurassic Park!) so before he could fly at me again, I whacked him like a golf ball about 10 feet to the edge of the coop.
Jim came out of the chicken coop in a hurry, though seeming more puzzled than worried or angry. “Why did you just hit the chicken like a baseball?” So I showed him my bleeding leg. After ascertaining that he had slashed me with his talons, not just a lucky peck, Jim looked like he was going to kill him right there.
But being a true romantic, he didn’t want to step on my toes. That rooster’s head is mine!
But, it is a rare breed, and very pretty, so he gets one more ball. Sorry for the confusion between baseball metaphors and golf comparisons, but hey, I’m an artist not a jock!
Either way, the little bastard gets one more chance. He attacks again and I have chicken stew for supper. After all, there are 3 more roosters.
Pretty Boy with the girls.