One Mean Bird

In one of my previous blogs, I related how my son, Jacob, loved his little flock of chickens. This was a great project for a 4-year-old and taught him a world of responsibility and compassion for animals. It also taught me a few valuable lessons too: never turn your back on a feisty rooster!

We've had roosters before - leghorns, bantams and cochins. But nothing like the gallo de diablo (Spanish for devil rooster) named Bucca Bucca. This stately bird, a barred Plymouth Rock, stood nearly 2 1/2 feet tall and had spiky one-inch spurs jutting out of his golden legs. No one got near his little harem without his noticing it and challenging his presence.

While Jacob had a uncanny rapport with his chickens - holding them and getting them to follow him around the yard - he had great respect and fear of the rooster. And why not? That devil was the fastest, feathered thing on two legs that I ever encountered! Before Bucca Bucca joined the chicken coop, I used to laugh at my sister-in-law who was mercilessly chased by a rooster on the farm. How could anyone be afraid of a little chicken, I thought to myself.

When you get attacked by a rooster, you don't soon forget. And if you're lucky enough to catch him off guard, he won't forget the encounter either. After a whack on the tail feathers with a long stick, we both kept a wary distance from each other. But he was always waiting for his chance. And one day he got it. I was in collecting eggs and had forgotten to close the entrance to the outside yard.

Thinking he was busy scrapping with the hens over some cherry tomatoes, I took my time gathering the freshly laid brown eggs, still warm in the nesting boxes. Holding at least a dozen eggs in my arms (I had forgotten the container in my haste) I was surprised by a rear ambush. Bucca Bucca had stealthily entered the coop and moved in for a blindsided attack. With his spurs flashing, the feathered demon got in a few good licks on my bare legs.

What eggs were left unbroken were hurled (along with expletives) at that bird who was scrambling to exit the coop. I remember muttering under my breath all the way to the house about how we were going to have fried chicken for supper some day soon. But even if I didn't love that rooster, my son did. I remember minutes later Jacob running into the house to report a tragedy in the chicken coop. As I drew nearer, I could hardly contain my laughter. There was Bucca Bucca standing in the middle of the hens, trying to look dignified while covered with egg yolks.

"There's something wrong with him!" Jacob said. I assured him that Bucca Bucca was just fine (compared to me). All he got was a little egg on his face after I got in the last word.