“I want to adopt that rooster.” Maybe if I pretend not to hear, they’ll go away. “I heard you were the person who could box up that rooster for me. I want to adopt that rooster.” Nope, no getting out of this one. Today I am a rooster wrangler.
Roosters and I used to get along. Until summer of 2014 and Little Roo, hatched with tender loving care and fed only the best grains and tidbits. We turned the soil, searched for worms, and laughed as he scared away the crows. “Such a clever roo,” I would coo, “so very sweet and not like those other mean roos.” But apparently Little Roo was simply a late bloomer, saving up to showcase his spectacular testosterone fueled rages. Even the fox kept her distance, warily eyeing his prancing struts and ducking into her den. Little Roo was King.
Summer of 2014 lurched to an end with an unfortunate incident involving Little Roo, a 2×4, a 1″ deep gash in my leg, and a very fed up fox. The fox won. But Little Roo haunts my every rooster encounter. Flash forward to 2018 and “Bob” the rooster and I are set for a grudge match. Loser gets boxed and sent off to a new home. I am somewhat hoping that will be me. I like these people, and voice concern that they are contemplating this fierce mini-dinosaur who squawks and puffs up like a WWE wrestler entering a cage match. Cage match…WWE…wait a minute. Can’t you tag in a teammate for those? Visions of Gorgeous George, The Undertaker, the flamboyant Hardy Brothers fill my head as I cast about for a willing teammate.
In glorious red gilded hair and bold swirl of her shoulders, my teammate accepts the challenge and jumps in the ring. They circle, predators searching for a weakness. She swoops, but misses, and Bob presses his advantage, flying up to land on her head. “Get him off, get him off, he pooped in my hair,” my valiant teammate shrieks. Wings flail, talons rake air as in one sinuous motion, my partner executes a perfect twist and grab, securing Bob under her arm. We win!! Bob looks embarrassed, tucks his head under his wing, and pretends to nap as he is ignominiously placed into a carrier bound for his new home. And this, my friends, is how one boxes up a rooster.