Friday, April 22, 2011
Ding, Dong, the Rooster's Dead, The Wicked Rooster's Dead!
Unfortunately, Wren has continued to attack me repeatedly. I have had to defend myself with whatever I was carrying--metal tree stake, walking stick, a piece of 2 x 4, even my purse! We realized Wren was going to have to go before he hurt one of our grandchildren, but spring busy-ness bought him a few extra weeks.
Then on Saturday I went into the chain-link pen in front of the coop to put food out for the chickens. I had taken a garden stake with me and had verified that Wren was outside the pen. I bent down to pour out the scratch, and suddenly there was a commotion behind me. I whirled around to find Wren attacking me, having charged from outside the pen straight through the chickens--one of whom had squawked and given me warning. I hit at Wren with my 3-foot stick, and he charged at me again. He was between me and the door of the pen, and he came at me again. I was shrieking bloody murder, but Herb was over in the barnyard and couldn't get there in time to help me. Finally I connected good with my stake, and Wren took off out the door of the pen.
This time Wren did more than scare me--he actually got me! Thanks to my fleece pants, it was only a long scratch on the back of my thigh, but I was furious that this animal that I had cared for since last August would stalk me and attack me when my back was turned. As he ran out of the pen, I pursued him, caught him by surprise as he crowed his victory cry, and whacked him a couple of more times with my stake! I'm not sure who was more surprised--Herb, the rooster, or me!
A short time later the deed was done.
Now you know why I keep singing, "Ding, dong, the rooster's dead!"
And the moral of this story, as Herb put it to the painters and electrician: "Don't mess with my wife! If you do, I'll chop off your head, tear off your feathers and rip your guts out!"