Rooster Pecked!

26 01 2013

While stationed at the Coast Guard Air Station in Elizabeth City, one of the guys I knew, but not all that well at the time, asked me about helping him with a project. Turns out his wife had been involved in a car accident some time earlier and suffered permanent back injuries. I’m not clear on all the details but she had been awarded a pretty good chunk of cash as a result of her injury. Using this money, they bought 10 acres of wooded land which surrounded their home and then had a swimming pool installed right in front of the house.

The next step in their plan was to enclose the pool so they could swim year round. That’s where I come in.

Bob had no carpenter skills but he knew I had done some building, so he asked me if I would be willing to “help” him build a room, attached to the house, and surrounding the pool. He was willing to pay me to do it but the truth is, I’d have done it for free.

The house was deep enough into the woods that it could not be seen from the highway. I eased my 1954 Ford pick-up up his driveway, parting the sea of chickens in my path like a ship parting the waters. Bob met me as I got out of the truck and showed me around. As we waded through the chickens he warned me about his rooster. He said you hardly ever see the rooster, but he’s a mean one. I thought, c’mon, it’s a chicken. How dangerous can he be!

That's a mean rooster!

That’s a mean rooster!

Sometime later, as we were getting close to finishing the project, I had a day off and decided to spend at least part of it working on Bob’s house. He and his wife were both at work so there was no one but me and the chickens.  We kept tools in the barn, so when I arrived I went straight to the barn to get out what I would need. As I stood there collecting tools, I was suddenly attacked… yes, physically and brutally attacked… by the rooster Bob had warned me about. I turned around and there he stood-defiant. Daring me. My goodness! This rooster must have been six feet tall. He looked like Foghorn Leghorn! If he could talk, I know exactly what he would have said. “Boy, I say, boy, I just pecked you in the butt. Now, whatcha gonna do about it?”

He was the biggest rooster I had ever seen and he knew he was big because he wasn’t backing down a bit. I reached around to my backside-the point of attack-and there was a hole in the seat of my jeans! And to make matters worse, and me madder, there was blood! Not much, but blood none the less. I was hot. I looked on a shelf in front of me and saw Bob’s wrist rocket slingshot. Well, when I grabbed it I got the impression the rooster had seen the wrist rocket before because he took off. I took off right behind him with the wrist rocket and a handful of ammo from a jar on the shelf. There weren’t enough lawyers at PETA to stop me from putting a hole in the chicken. I chased him around the barn and got off a couple shots while on the run. Both shots missed but the second shot skipped off the ground right beside the rooster and hit the side of Bob’s house. The sound of that steel shot bouncing off siding made me stop and think how it would’ve sounded had it struck a window instead, or worse, my truck, so I gave up chase and let the rooster live another day. But I kept one eye out for the rooster the rest of the day.




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