Rooster Attack

Did you know that Roosters were mean?

I sure as hell didn’t. 

But I definitely do now.

I can officially say, I have been attacked by a rooster.

We have 2 roosters in our flock of chickens.  We are about to have just 1.

Apparently, the black rooster that we have gets a little worked up at feeding time, and I recently found out, can get really aggressive.  For the past week, things have been fine, and he hasn’t laid a feather on any of us.  But for some reason yesterday, that all changed.

Will and I got home right around 6 and we started working on all of the feeding chores that have to be done around here.  When it came time to feed the chickens, we filled up the chicken feed scoop and headed down for the chicken pen.  When we arrived, the chickens seemed to be anxiously awaiting their feed.  They came running towards the gate clucking, and cock-a-doodle-dooing. 

I instructed Will to stand just outside the gate and hold it closed while I went into to dump the feed into the feeder.  Normally, he comes right in with me, but today for some reason (probably god watching over him) I thought it’d be best if he stayed on the outside of the fence.  With that, we opened the gate, I entered the pen, and Will held the gate closed behind me.

At first glance into the pen I noticed the chicken’s water was knocked over, so I went over to straighten it up.  I picked it up, placed it right-side up and then turned around to dump the feed in the chicken feeder.  As I turned around, I heard the cluck of the big black rooster, saw him flapping his wings and coming straight at me.  He looked like a freaking bear when he spanned his wings out and got a little off the ground.

All in one swoop he plucked at my shin one good time with his beak.  Terrified, I threw the feed scoop to the other end of the cage and screamed bloody murder as I took off for the gate of the pen.  I was getting the hell out of dodge and wishing death upon the mean rooster that came at me.

As I quickly exited ran for my dear life out of the pen, I noticed the throb of my shin and the rapid pace of my heart.  I was wearing jeans, so I couldn’t see my skin right way, but I just knew that I had a gaping wound from his razor-sharp beak.   To top it off, I MIGHT also be experiencing a heart attack from the fright of his attack.

As I got my composure together, I gathered up the courage to roll up my pant leg to assess the damage.  I just knew I would be heading to the ER for stitches.  My shin hurt that bad.

I grabbed the bottom seam of my jeans and slowly rolled it back one roll at a time until I exposed my peck wound.

Ok, so my wound might not have been a big open wound that I just KNEW it was, but it was the worst little blood blister I’ve ever seen in my life. 

For the record, it DID hurt like it needed stitches.  I believe the true damage is all internal, and I just can’t see it with my eyes.

I immediately called Wes and told him how the attack unfolded and I laid down the law that the, “Black Rooster has to go!”

Of course, his initial reaction was to laugh.

Sometimes, I want to hurt him.

Then, he made a typical man comment and told me that we could eat him.

Men really think completely different from women.  There is NO WAY I could eat the rooster.  I don’t care what we do with him, or where he goes, but there was no way I could cook the rooster knowing that at one time it was considered one of our pets. 

I quickly told him that, eating him wasn’t an option and he could give the rooster to anyone he wanted, and that person could do whatever they’d like with him.  There’s just no way, I was going to eat him.  NOT happening.

For now, the mean rooster hangs with the rest of the flock.  But I promise you this…if he lays another feather or comes at me again with that razor-sharp beak; I’m DONE!  He can freaking starve for all I care.

I really wish a hawk would eat him.  Or a bear.  Or a panther….or our neighbor. 

Rooster- it’s what’s for dinner.