Deciding that we should be more self-sufficient, Nik got some laying hens so that we would always have fresh eggs. He converted an old dog enclosure into a chicken pen, and the hens happily went about their business laying eggs in the nests provided. However, when hens get older, they slow down and then stop laying eggs, hence the introduction of a rooster into the mix. He was quite young when we got him and was terribly hen-pecked by the ladies, pecked to the extent that he had to be fed and watered in a protected area until big enough to fend for himself.
We only have the one rooster because that’s all it takes, which is a good thing because one crowing rooster so close to the house is enough! Nik checks the feed and water in the pen twice each day and collects any eggs that have been laid. Nik’s the farmer in the family, he tends to the chickens, goats, dogs and bees while I rule the kitchen, and that’s the way we both like it.
One day Nik was at the farm when I realized I needed just one more egg, and I ventured downstairs to have a word with the hens. Entering the chicken pen entails removing whatever shoes I’m wearing and slipping my feet into a big pair of Nik’s sandals he keeps above the door. Using these “chicken shoes” is a necessary sanitary measure, but they’re way too large for my feet and make walking awkward. Opening the door, I stepped carefully into the pen and collected two freshly laid eggs from the nests, then turned to go back upstairs. As I opened the door I felt a searing pain on my leg, and realized with shock that the rooster had attacked me! The gouge he’d made with his sharp talons was deep and bled profusely, and it was quite painful too.
A few weeks later Nik got sick, and for a couple of days I had to deal with his farm chores. This of course meant that I was on “egg duty” and, wary of the rooster, I entered the pen with caution. That rooster was waiting for me, his beady eyes glowing with malicious intent. With no hesitation whatsoever he attacked me, but THIS time I was ready and gave the fecker a good fight! He still managed to draw blood but not as badly as before, and I managed to give him a few good swats with Nik’s slipper in return. What I did in life to make that rooster hate me so much is a mystery, he certainly isn’t mean to Nik when HE collects the eggs!
After telling a friend about my experiences with the “fecking rooster” she asked if he had a name. I had always just referred to him as “the rooster”, or “the cock fowl”, but decided then and there to dub him “Fecker”, and “Fecker” it will remain until the New Year.
THAT’S when his name will be changed to “Curry” and revenge will finally be mine!