One of my closest friends, who happens to be a law student, is home for the holidays and called me up to go dress shopping today. I happily obliged, unaware of the dangers that awaited me on this quest.
This friend lives up on a hill in the woods, and has had a brood of chickens for a few years. The fresh eggs are delicious. What I did not know was that they recently acquired a rooster. When we got back to her place after shopping, the chickens were no longer in their coop, but free and wandering around the property as they often do. As we walked along the driveway to her front door, we both suddenly felt an ominous presence behind us. We turned around to see a pissed off rooster running straight for us at full speed, neck poofed out, and claws at the ready.
My friend was alternating between running at it, shaking her arms and shopping bags wildly, and running away when she realized he wasn’t backing off. He was somehow fast enough to circle us and get us huddled in a small area. I was just screaming.
All of a sudden I hear her dad yell from the porch, “Just kick it! You have to kick it! C’mon stop being wimps. He needs to learn. KICK HIM!”
When we finally escaped and made it into the safety of her home, we watched from a window as the bastard swaggered over to his brood, all puffed up, and had violent three-second sex with one of the hens. Just to prove his point.
You can’t see it, because I took this picture as quickly as possible while running terrified to my car, but the contents of my friend’s CVS bag are scattered on the ground to the left. They fell during her attempt to out-alpha the rooster. They’ll probably remain there for a while.
P.S. Also, my friend is in the Army. So . . . yea.
P.P.S. This is not the first time I’ve been viciously attacked and chased by poultry. I’m not really sure what that says about me.