‎"...a little 'trouty', but quite good" ~ Eve Kendall, North By Northwest

Friday, June 19, 2009

cock-a-doodle-doo

I could have made some money tonight, except cock fighting is illegal in my state.

It all started when I picked up the Chicken Whisperer to give her a ride to a birthday party.

"There's, um, something I have to do on the way," she said. "We have to drop off Tennis Racquet."

So actually, it all started when Chicken Whisperer's 24 laying hens arrived as day-old chicks. I took the ones I had ordered, someone else took the ones she had ordered, and Chicken Whisperer was left with 14 hens. The children named the chicks: Baby Feathers, Locket, Little Bear, Crispy, Tennis Racquet, and so forth.

Tennis Racquet was the most beautiful chicken of all. She had gorgeous black and white feathers, which grew into a sweeping tail. She had big, black eyes and a magnificent comb. And she could crow like no chicken you've ever met.

Woke in the morning and started to crow
Now it's time for that rooster to go
He says, hey babe, take a walk on the wild side
Said, hey honey, take a walk on the wild side

And all the chickens go:

Doo, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo
Doo, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo

With much YouTube video-worthy hilarity, Tennis Racquet was captured.

We drove him to the farm, where we don't think he will be eaten. At least not right away. He's a particularly lovely rooster, and we think he's going to be a breeder. Is that legal? At any rate, it made us feel better, carting him off like that.

There was no one around when we arrived, so we opened the door to the most magnificent coop I've ever seen, and tossed him in. And all was well. For about 30 seconds.

Then we noticed the other rooster. We noticed him because he had fluffed up to twice his normal size, making himself look like a Thanksgiving turkey. He was not amused with Tennis Racquet. Tennis Racquet was all "dude, I'm a lover not a fighter. Look at my pretty tail feathers and my big beautiful eyes and my HEY! Get off me!"

Chicken Whisperer and I, remembering those PBS specials on cockfighting, realized we might be in for more than we had bargained. We thought about intervening (actually, she thought about it. I was hiding behind a rock). We thought about taking Tennis Racquet out of the coop and rushing him to ER. We thought about taking out the other rooster and making coq au vin. We thought about pretty much everything except having to stand and watch two roosters tear each other limb from limb. I mean, that's what they do, right?

Before we could decide on a definitive plan, they stopped fighting. And then they started again. And then another rooster (maybe?) took a shot. And then the hens started in. Tennis Racquet handled them all magnificently. That rooster was smooth, I tell you.

We waited until things had settled down and some sort of pecking order had been, at least temporarily, established. As we got in the car, Tennis Racquet looked through the fence at Chicken Whisperer, breaking her heart a little. But maybe not as much as it would have broken her heart to see him throttled by the competition. Or turned into stew. Or throttled by her neighbor and turned into stew.

Everything is relative.

6 comments:

Zip n Tizzy said...

Yikes! Good thing they didn't have razor blades taped to their ankles. I think that's how the professionals do it.
My mom said she had a hen once that turned into a rooster. Said it was the nicest rooster she's ever known.

Kristin @ Going Country said...

You were much nicer to your spare rooster than we were to ours.

He was delicious.

The Whispering Poppies said...

I brought home a baby chick from high school; science teacher had let the class watch them hatch... then the chicks had to go. I walked downtown with chick in box (parents didn't know). I brought little chick in big box up to my bedroom, and told mom and dad I needed to buy some chick feed. Mom and Dad peeked in box and little chick started to cock-a-doodle-doo. My chick had to go, too! Friends of ours had a chick farm, so my school prize found a new home. (Now really, what was I thinking, keeping a rooster in my BEDROOM?!)

Dana's Brain said...

I just love the name Tennis Racket. That is really inspired! Happy to hear he managed to stand his ground in the coop.

TwoBusy said...

That is almost certainly the first time I've ever seen "pecking order" used in a non-metaphorical fashion.

Then again, I probably don't read as many poultry periodicals as you do.

Tiny Dancer said...

I love it, poultry periodicals. Yes, it is good eating, er reading!