First you must know that I despise birds. Their beady round eyes, their unsanitary feathers, and their unnecessary flapping all contribute to an animal that I don’t like and am slightly afraid of.
When I was asked to house-sit recently, I agreed with no qualms, though I knew that part of my responsibilities would be caring for the chickens. Our family having chickens, I have learned that most of the time these birds run from people unless food is coming. I did not then realize that roosters are completely different from hens.
The first morning that I was house-sitting, I walked to the chicken pen, unthinking, in my sparkly flip-flops (when I told this story at home, everyone reminded me how foolish that was, and I told them that I now know that from experience). I opened the gate, slipped inside, and as I was fastening the latch there was a tornado with claws at my feet! At this point, I was not slightly afraid, I was terrified. I don’t know how I got the rooster away from my feet, but as he stood posturing I looked for a weapon to keep him away. The only thing I saw at that moment was two dried out oranges, which I grabbed as I walked to the chicken coop. I watched the rooster, and when he began to come at me again, I threw the oranges at him, only hitting him once, but that gave me enough time to get to the rake. This rake quelled his fighting spirit for the time being, but I made sure to keep my eye on him and my hand on the rake.
The next day I remembered that I had not checked the chickens water that morning, and it was nearing one hundred and ten degrees. I was tempted to just leave them, but the poor hens had not attacked me, and the rooster wasn’t mine. So I went to the pen, after putting on some boots from the house. Opening the gate, I grabbed the rake which I had left right by the entrance. The rake was still required if I did not want to be attacked, and I kept the full length of it between the rooster and me. Because he still looked nasty, I pushed the him away from the water until I was done being near it. As I walked from the pen, I saw him rush to get a drink, and I thought that maybe the next morning he would be a bit more agreeable out of thanks.
Maybe not. As soon as the rooster saw me the last morning, he began to posture and crow, threatening violence. I hurried through the chores as quickly as I could while grasping the handle of the rake. I was no longer terrified of the rooster, but I was becoming thoroughly disgusted with his bad manners. I left the pen with defiant glance, glad that for the time being I was done fighting him to gather eggs and feed his brood. When I came home that afternoon and looked out the back window at our chickens, I realized that maybe the female version of the chicken family was not as bad as I had thought. Of course, with such a comparison, anything would appear wonderful!
When I was asked to house-sit recently, I agreed with no qualms, though I knew that part of my responsibilities would be caring for the chickens. Our family having chickens, I have learned that most of the time these birds run from people unless food is coming. I did not then realize that roosters are completely different from hens.
The first morning that I was house-sitting, I walked to the chicken pen, unthinking, in my sparkly flip-flops (when I told this story at home, everyone reminded me how foolish that was, and I told them that I now know that from experience). I opened the gate, slipped inside, and as I was fastening the latch there was a tornado with claws at my feet! At this point, I was not slightly afraid, I was terrified. I don’t know how I got the rooster away from my feet, but as he stood posturing I looked for a weapon to keep him away. The only thing I saw at that moment was two dried out oranges, which I grabbed as I walked to the chicken coop. I watched the rooster, and when he began to come at me again, I threw the oranges at him, only hitting him once, but that gave me enough time to get to the rake. This rake quelled his fighting spirit for the time being, but I made sure to keep my eye on him and my hand on the rake.
The next day I remembered that I had not checked the chickens water that morning, and it was nearing one hundred and ten degrees. I was tempted to just leave them, but the poor hens had not attacked me, and the rooster wasn’t mine. So I went to the pen, after putting on some boots from the house. Opening the gate, I grabbed the rake which I had left right by the entrance. The rake was still required if I did not want to be attacked, and I kept the full length of it between the rooster and me. Because he still looked nasty, I pushed the him away from the water until I was done being near it. As I walked from the pen, I saw him rush to get a drink, and I thought that maybe the next morning he would be a bit more agreeable out of thanks.
Maybe not. As soon as the rooster saw me the last morning, he began to posture and crow, threatening violence. I hurried through the chores as quickly as I could while grasping the handle of the rake. I was no longer terrified of the rooster, but I was becoming thoroughly disgusted with his bad manners. I left the pen with defiant glance, glad that for the time being I was done fighting him to gather eggs and feed his brood. When I came home that afternoon and looked out the back window at our chickens, I realized that maybe the female version of the chicken family was not as bad as I had thought. Of course, with such a comparison, anything would appear wonderful!
