Attack of the killer rooster

Following is an excerpt from Marilyn’s book. We think (hope/pray) that we are nearly finished with it.

Attack of the killer roosterDad’s dad had an ornery streak in him when it came to roosters and he set a bad example for me. Grandma always had lots of chickens and several roosters. I followed Grandpa around his farm, and one day he showed me how to make a rooster mad.

Grandpa picked up a large stick and jabbed it at the rooster until the bird’s feathers stood up on his back. As the rooster grew angrier with every jab, we stepped away from the fence and let the rooster’s rage fester.

Thank goodness, Grandma’s chickens were locked inside their fence.

Not so with Mom’s chickens. Our chickens were allowed to roam freely. They kept down the weeds and grasshoppers and grew pretty hefty on nature’s provisions.

Sometime later, I decided to tease one of Mom’s old roosters, just like I’d seen my grandpa do! Dad warned me that this would come back to bite me. He told me not to come crying to him when the rooster decided to attack me.

I ignored Dad’s wise words.

Every day, I picked on Mom’s old rooster, making him angrier each time. One day, the rooster showed me just how furious I’d made him. When I turned my back, he ruffled up his feathers, making him look twice as big as he really was. He spread out his wings, put his head down, and charged me as fast as he could! Just in time, I saw him coming towards me at full rooster speed, and ran as fast as I could to the gated yard! With him right behind me, I slammed the gate shut. He crashed full speed into it. That made him even madder!

I was terrified!

As I stared at that rooster, I remembered my dad’s strong words of caution about pestering the rooster and the price I’d have to pay.

Now what?

Even though Dad had warned me, I thought Mom and Dad would be sympathetic.

I went into the house crying and I told Mom what had just happened.

She didn’t act one bit surprised and had no sympathy on me whatsoever. She reminded me that I’d been warned!

I asked her how I was supposed to go outside and do my chores. She told me I’d have to figure that out myself. She didn’t relieve me of any of my chores.

I had to come up with a plan to protect myself from my stalker. I decided to carry a broom handle with me everywhere I went!

That rooster seemed to know when I gathered the eggs. He always heard or saw me coming and tried to ambush me seemingly every time. Immediately, his feathers ruffled and his head went down. He started strutting right towards me!

Even though I always carried the broom handle, he still scared me! As he got closer, I pounded the broom handle on the ground and he stopped. But instead of fleeing from me, he just stood there and glared me. I didn’t dare turn my back on him.

When I slowly walked away from him, he inched towards me, staying just out of the broom handle’s range. While I gathered the eggs from the chicken coop, he stood in the doorway. Every line of his body said, “Just try and get past me!”

So I didn’t try. I evaded him. I always went out the other door, slamming it behind me! I took the long way back to the house with the precious eggs and my broom handle. Most of the time, I fooled the rooster and he went back to being master of the hens.

Several times I forgot my trusty broom handle. He always seemed to know when I was defenseless. He appeared out of nowhere, feathers ruffled and head down, ready to charge! I ran as fast as I could across the yard to escape the rooster’s wrath!

One day, Dad needed my assistance to sort cattle in the corral. Dad was in a hurry and ordered me to not to waste any time meeting him in the barn.

Grabbing the trusty broom handle, I sprinted across the yard towards the barn. Out from behind the tractor came the rooster, eager to attack me. Since Dad’s wrath was to be feared much more than the rooster’s, I swung the broom handle as hard as I could at the rooster. BOOM! I whacked him squarely in the head. He keeled over right before my very eyes. I had killed Mom’s rooster! Oh, no! Now I’d have Mom’s wrath to deal with as well! Incurring my mother’s wrath was not to be taken lightly either.

I ran to the barn and told Dad what had happened. His expression told me he was not pleased with me at all.

As we started sorting the cattle, Mom entered the barn.

Oh, dear. I was in deep do-do now!

Looking straight at me, she asked what I’d done to the old rooster. She saw him wobbling across the yard like a drunk and knew I’d done something to him.

I quickly spilled my story. I told her that I had whacked him hard with the broom handle so he’d leave me alone.

She said that most likely this had done the trick, but that she’d better not see me teasing any more roosters.

I wasn’t about to tease any more roosters. Oh, no. Not after that. Lesson was not just learned; it was burned into my head. He was the first and last rooster I ever picked on!

That old rooster had learned his lesson too. He never came after me again. He still kept a wary eye on me, but from a distance.

We had called a truce.

The rooster lived to a ripe old age. When he died, he was so old that Mom feared he would be too tough to use in noodle soup!

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