Karma Is a Bitch, Even For Chickens

This is a bantam white cochin rooster. Isn't he cute?



(Photo stolen from TheBigWRanch12)

Let's call him Chester, because I can't for the life of me remember the exact name of the bantie white cochin rooster I'm about to tell you about. (Even my brother Mantel Man couldn't remember, and that's never happened in the history of Earth.)

Chester was a feisty little bugger, often to the point of obnoxiousness. He favored the sneak attack, scuttling up silently behind a person on his ridiculously cute fluffy legs, then flying up at the person -- let's say ME, for example -- with his feet outstretched toward me. I'd hear the flapping, turn around, and get a frontal assault of snotty chicken. This sounds funny and harmless, but those ridiculously cute chicken legs have spurs on them, which are rather painful if they get purchase on bare skin. It was particularly galling to be attacked by a pet who depended upon our good will to survive, and it was hard to explain being intimidated by a darling little puff ball no larger than a balloon.

But we were all somewhat intimidated. We watched our backs in the back yard.

Chester had a peculiar habit of hanging out near the swimming pool in the early morning. This was annoying because he was a rooster, and roosters crow pretty much all the time (never mind that the story books taught you that roosters crow at dawn. They do -- at dawn and at all other times of day and night). Our bedrooms were close to the pool, and therefore within earshot of a certain snotty crowing puff-ball who hung out at the pool.

We were never sure how he got there or why, but Chester would sometimes get into the pool on those early mornings.  Did he fall in trying to get a drink? Probably, but I would think one time would have cured him of that nonsense. Plus, there was plenty of water around the yard that didn't require swimming lessons to reach. I have a theory: Chester was a thrill-seeker. Chester the Adrenaline Junkie Rooster.

This theory is borne out by the way we'd find Chester -- riding the pool sweep around and around the pool. Our pool sweep at that time* was one that floated on top of the water, so it was possible for a lightweight thrill-seeking chicken to perch atop it and ride around (as long as that chicken didn't mind the revolving tile squirter that must have acted as a sort of chicken bidet; presumably, Chester didn't mind).

(Photo stolen from this site)

Several times Mom would have to rescue Chester from the top of the pool sweep; the wet and bedraggled little turd was NOT gracious about the rescues, making it even less fun saving his puffy little chicken ass.

But one morning Chester had taken one thrill ride too many, and Karma caught up with him. Mom found him in the drink. Poor Chester.

The moral of this story: there is no moral, unless you are a small ill-tempered rooster with a penchant for risky behavior. In that case, the moral is, of course, WEAR A LIFE PRESERVER.


*The pool sweep was named Ernest; my people are not good at naming humans but we're GREAT at naming inanimate objects.

Comments

[Bob Cleveland]

It's highly likely that his Rooster buddies had been riding him about being named after a gimpy Rube from Gunsmoke.

From Dodge City, a-k-a Death Wish City.

[Cactus Petunia]

Life in the country is dangerous!

[The Mom Bomb]

I'm thinking Chester had a deathwish. Anger can be a sign of depression. Maybe he was bipolar.

Sigh. The Chicken Prozac might have saved him.

[Melanie @ Mel, A Dramatic Mommy]

Aww, that's sad. Not enough to make me stop eating chicken, but still. Poor dumb Chester.

[MommyTime]

My sister's pool sweep is named Pepe. She calls "him" the pool boy. She feels it makes their house seem more glamorous. ;)

Also, could you please tell me how to pronounce "cochin," since it seems dangerously close to being pronounced as a dirty word in my mouth?

[Bob Cleveland]

I must confess I'd make a lousy farm boy .. I mean, I've never EVER had a desire to go swimming in used bidet water.

NEVER.

[tj]

...I'm almost certain that Chester's thrill seeking was in the chicken "bidet". Riding around on Ernest, not so much... lol ;o)

...Blessings...

[Bob Cleveland]

Oh .. and then there was the time I helped my father-in-law pull a calf. They named him Robert.

He turned out to be the biggest steer they ever had. And boy, was HE good.

[Bob Cleveland]

I suppose y'all HAVE heard the story about the pig with the wooden leg?

[Mental P Mama]

Why is it that fluffy legs only look good on a rooster?

[Ellie]

I thought that pool sweep -- er, Ernest -- was a chicken stethoscope when I first saw it.

[annbb/TSannie]

The comments here are almost as good as your story. And I'm of the opinion that you get back what you put out...Chester certainly got his!

[mrs f with 4]

Did you eat him?! I lived on the farm with my grandparents, and they had (rightly, I guess) a bit of a fixation with 'waste not, want not'. So we had to eat everything... including the pet chickens, pet lambs, when the time came. It probably wouldn't have been so bad if Grandpa wouldn't announce in the middle of supper, "Isn't Smokey TASTY?"

[Chesapeake Bay Woman]

Actually, I think the moral lies somewhere between a turd of a chicken and his puffy little chicken ass, but sometimes I focus on the wrong details....

[Bob Cleveland]

Our kids had a pet chick named Doc, when they were little. When he got too big for the cage, we took him to Peg's folks' farm, where he lived a reasonable life.

He'd do that same thing to us when were walking to the outhouse.

Doc had a special place in my kids' hearts, and eventually one with me, too.

Right next to the mashed potatoes, one Sunday noon.