One afternoon on my way home from Cooptown I passed the OKluck Corral. A dusty place that often reeked with the stench of Beefy Boys and is guarded by a squadron of rats, I usually pay no mind to the sty. This particular day I couldn't help but notice the tense situation that was going on within its confines. For living in a small world, chickens are full of drama! This day proved to be no exception.
They stood there beak to beak, glaring at one another; no words were spoken, all communication was done through hateful stares. Cad-Buddy and Chicken Hawk were going to go at it!
I jumped, startled, when out of no where the stand-off music was played:
WHA WHA WHA
I have no idea where that music came from.
I slowly approached, scared my quick movements would prove to be both of their undoings. What I saw as I inched closer made my jaw drop. Chicken Hawk wore a beat up dusty Stetson and fringed chaps. A shiny plastic pistol hung on his hip. His brown wing was raised above it ever so slightly, ready to draw upon Cad-Buddy's first movement. He narrowed his eyes and spit a bright orange kernel of corn into a sliver spittoon off to the side. I have no idea where that spittoon had come from.
Cad-Buddy stood out thanks to a bright red bandanna tied around his ivory neck. Tie-on rodeo spurs where around his ankles...I'm figuring since he hasn't grown his own yet. I noticed he didn't have a gun on his side, but I did see a cut out cardboard knife wrapped with shiny aluminum foil poking out from his spurs. He incessantly chewed on a toothpick that wiggled up and down, back and forth.
WHA WHA WHA
The scene didn't stop with the about to duel roosters. A cluster of hens were leaning out the door from Kennel Bar dressed in lace and furs. I didn't think my jaw could drop any further, but it could. And it did. I couldn't believe my hens were dressed at way! The skimpy clothes revealed everything and and left absolutely nothing to the imagination! I didn't raise my girls to dress that way! I was going to have a good talking to with those trollops...wait until their father got home!
More conservative girls huddled together in a frightened group outside. They were whispering and all I could hear from their hushed conversation was that they referred to Chicken Hawk as "Duke" and Cad-Buddy as "Eastwood". I have no idea where those names came from.
Finally, Chicken Hawk... I mean Duke... spoke to Eastwood:
"You know Eastwood, this flock ain't big enough for the two of us."
Cad-Buddy...I mean Eastwood... showed no expression, other than hate, and replied:
"What are you gonna do about it? Punk."
WHA WHA WHA
That was the straw that broke the camel's back! It was on! Both roosters flew into the air, feathers all puffed out, bodies arched, dust swirling all around and nails a-flyin'! The hens all shrieked in fright and one of the conservative girls even passed out in the dust. The trollops hanging out of Kennel Bar where cheering on their favorite man, "Go Eastwood! Get him good Duke!"
Thankfully, within seconds the dust settled and both roosters returned to the ground, untouched. Duke whipped out his shiny pistol and pointed it at Eastwood, screams from the hens filling the still afternoon air. He pulled, pointed, I covered my ears and turned my eyes away...CLICK. It was empty!
Eastwood laughed out loud and dramatically pulled out his knife from the strings of his spurs, but it fell apart and lay scattered on the ground.
All of a sudden a stampede of Beefy Boys came out of nowhere and chickens were scrambling everywhere and all went their separate ways. Even the conservative cluckie woke up in time to get away from the barrage of cloven hooves.
This story does have some authenticity to it. Earlier in the week, the two roosters were going at it in a way I've never seen before. No one was hurt, they don't have their spurs yet, and I hope it was just routinely establishing the pecking order, and that it won't in time end up with blood shed and even death. Both roosters have that mean look in their eye, so hopefully things don't get interesting between the two.
This kind of behaviour was never seen out of Foghorn and Chaz. In fact, out of all my roosters, so far I think Chaz was the best. There are days I almost regret sending him off to live with the Amish. It would have been interesting to see if he ever would have turned mean on his own.
...cluck... cluck... cluck...