That’s two …

Brewster the Rooster seems to be suffering from a bit of testosterone poisoning.  A few days ago he apparently decided that I am another (obviously competitive) rooster, and took a run at me.  Since he’s always been something of scaredy-chicken, I had my back turned and was completely unsuspecting.

Let me tell you, a bird one-fifth your size with a beak and claws can so some damage. I’m still wincing when I stand on my left leg, which is where he buried his beak just above the back of my knee.

“That’s one,” I told him. “When we get to three, it’s chicken and dumplings time so watch it.”

Since then I enter the chicken yard with a broom; not so much to whack him (though in a direct attack I’m not above that tactic), but more to discourage him and disabuse him of the idea that I am a rooster.  You’d think the 5’3″, opposable thumb stuff would be a hint, but I guess not.

The next day he was fine.  The third day I had Bill with me when I went to collect eggs and change their water. Naturally Brewster lolled around with several chickens in a far corner, making me look a Chicken Little tattletale.  Embarrassing, but harmless.

This morning was a different story entirely.  Neck feathers flaring, claws forward and testosterone-driven, the Big R came at me over and over.  It was quite interesting to see, and with the broom to distract him I wasn’t hurt.

But I can’t exactly get my morning chicken duties accomplished while I’m playing Dodge the Rooster with him.

It was clear that he hasn’t forgiven me for being an interloper, and as far as he’s concerned I’m still a rooster, opposable thumb and all.  Fine.

That’s two.

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7 thoughts on “That’s two …

  1. Sister Catherine Grace – your rooster having his next step be chicken and dumplings started my morning out with a laugh!

    Thanks, Shelby

    1. He’s inching closer to the stew pot every time I enter the yard and a little switch goes off in his brain (or elsewhere?) that says, “There she is— ATTACKATTACKATTACK!!!” I think I heard someone whisper “three” when he came after me this morning ..

  2. Who is Brewster? Did we meet him last summer? I remember Tarzan, but not Brewster. Or is he a new rooster from a new brood? Can we see a picture of him, preferably from a safe (for you) distance?

  3. Brewster is indeed Tarzan. But he was so much more like the Road Runner (sans a perfect “beep”, but close enough) that Tarzan seemed a bit elegant for him. “Brewster” seemed appropriately goofy to me.

    I checked with our dairy farmer this am, who also has chickens, and he sort of smiled when I asked about an aggressive rooster. Bottom line: once they start this, they don’t stop. (Seems about right; BtR was more than usually aggressive this morning, though I’m beginning to realize I have no idea what “usually aggressive” looks like.)

    Perhaps “Godzilla” or “Edward Scissorhands” might work for his next naming effort.

    We are going to try a fence, to see if I can use food to trap him on the other side when I come into the yard to work. If that doesn’t work … would you care for salad with those dumplings?

  4. He reminds me of a dog, Butch, that the family had before we were born. And as I recall, Butch had to be put down in the end because he was totally uncontrollable. Do you suppose it has something to do with good looks? Butch was a beautiful dog, and Brewster/Tarzan/Godzilla is a beautiful rooster. Such a waste! But you cannot have vicious animals around humans — or other animals.

  5. In all fairness to his species, Brewster’s only doing his job. Perhaps a bit too well, but still … I feel challenged to figure out how we can live peacefully with each other, both of us doing our jobs without anyone getting hurt. I’ll let you know how this works out.

    It occurs to me that Butch could have used the Dog Whisperer. And if there is a Rooster Whisperer out there, please contact me.

    As soon as possible.

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