I’m house sitting for friends here on the beautiful shore of Lake Michigan. My one commitment (other than drinking in all these autumn colors) is to feed the animals.
2 goats, 8 hens, 3 chicks, 2 cats, 1 bunny who kicks and scratches like a mule, and RUSTY the big red rooster.
Rusty’s the impetus for this story, ’cause he’s got spurs that’ll slice you open and one ornery pair of balls! (that’s what makes him a rooster and not a gelding).
He’s all white except for a bright red fleshy crown on his head and chin.
Rusty has established his domain with both Zoili and Sky, the girls who tend the animals. They’ve been cut by his spurs, and after taking one look at those switchblades, I listened extra careful to their advice.
“The big red rake”, says Sky, “He’s afraid of it”.
That’s all i needed to hear, and i never went into the yard without it.
Imagine that, a grown man walking around with a big plastic rake. A RED rake. Personally, I’d have prefered a machete, or even better, a machine gun.
I figured the rake looks a lot like the comb on his head, tho its a LOT BIGGER. Size matters a lot to those of us who carry a pair of huevos between our legs, it speaks directly to our limbic brain and says “Warning, Warning.”
That rooster is smart. He found his opportunity the other day when i least expected it. Thank God my back wasn’t turned, or i might not have lived to tell about it. (Had he come at me again, i’d be telling this story over a bowl of hot chicken soup!)
I was in the goat pen filling water bowls. He snuck in thru their door and came straight for me. (the rake was outside, who needs the rake in there?) I went into a spontaneous spasm of kung fu moves i didn’t know were in me, and to my total surprise, he chickened out! Right out the way he came in!
Heart pounding, i took stock… everything seemed ok, no gaping wounds or gushing blood. I turned to see that the chicken wire was torn off the goat pen walls. How’d that happen, i wondered… then realized in my spastic spasm my flailing arms had pulled it right off the wall!
There are many morals to this story; one of them being i wonder how much of Rusty’s energy was in resonant reply to my anticipation of his fury?
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