So we had this rooster, right? We named him King, because he was a Polish, and as you may know, Polish have these weird crown-like, pompoms on their heads. Also he had a kind of regal air, strutting around like Mick Jagger on stage, thrusting his chest forward as roosters are want to do.
This is, I guess, a kind of typical rooster story, because I’ve heard it in some iteration or other several times. But here’s how this one went down.
At about ten months into King’s life, when he was fully grown and was just beginning to exercise his duties as a rooster, he also became very aggressive towards us. In particular to the kids who were 3 and 5 at the time.
Out of the blue, he would launch himself at them, flapping his wings, achieving lift off for several yards, and projecting his raptor’s claws out in front of him. The youngest was very scared. The oldest a little less so, and liked to provoke him into a fight, then run away screaming. The youngest once walked about a half mile around the yard to get back to the house in order to avoid “the Kingdom.”
Eventually, we had suffered enough. We had gotten over our affection for him, and he was no longer the cute chick that he had been. One attack too many decided it, and I got my gun.
All I had to hand was a .177 caliber air rifle. Not being a hunting man, since I find anything but killing for subsistence pretty senseless, I didn’t have a shotgun or rifle. But the air rifle was surely good enough for a Polish bantam.
Cover your eyes if you don’t like violence.
I took aim from about six feet away and shot him in the head. Cold, ain’t it?
He rolled down the bank and then got up again and looked like he was drunk.
So I reloaded and stalked to within six feet again and fired. This time there was blood. He flapped and rolled, but was back on his feet.
It took me a third shot into his tiny brain to end it.
The hens were looking confused. “Sure, King was a B*&%$@d, but is he coming for us next?”
After that I plucked and dressed him, and put him in the slow cooker with lots of red wine, potatoes onions and a bunch of spices. He was kind of skinny, but he cooked up real good.
“Is this King?” one of the kids asked. My wife looked at me.
“Not bad, is he?”
So, for all of you roosters out there….