Evil Rooster, (formerly known as Elvis), has resumed his terrorist attacks against me. I will be walking by, minding my own business, when he flies at the back of my head, usually tangling his feet in my hair. I can not tell you how mad his needless attacks make me. Dang!
Now I certainly understand how some of Grandma's roosters ended up as chicken and homemade noodles over mashed potatoes. If Evil Roo' was worth it, he too would end up in a stew pot. By the time he was plucked and cut up, there would only be about twelve ounces of meat, and half of that would be his evil little bones.
Junior, Evil's son, has established himself as the alpha rooster these last few weeks. Junior is insufferable as the boss, fiercely attacking the hens and bossing everyone around. He is a real dictator. But, he has never attacked me - yet. He is not quite one year old so time will tell.
This morning, Evil was spoiling for a fight. While everyone else was running, hopping and flying toward me for breakfast, Evil was walking tall, all twelve inches of him, keeping one of his evil little eyes on me. I knew he was going to attack as soon as I turned my back. I picked a seven foot sunflower stalk left over from last fall, and pointed it at "Satan The Tiny". Maintaining his tall stance, he scooted away as fast as his feathery little feet would carry him. I was able to get past him to take care of the horses.
Evil is not dumb. He never attacks Duke, for instance. He always attacks me from the back, and he always goes for my head. I am thankful he is not an eight pound rooster. Evil Roo' should be thankful I am a tolerant woman.