Roosters (I’m really no good at catchy titles)

There is a gang of eight roosters who live in my neighborhood. I was out running one day, just enjoying the day and the ground under my feet, when I heard a soft “bawk” to my right. I looked over and eight pairs of beady little rooster eyes were following my progress down the road. They were gathered together in a cluster of gleaming copper and red, every single one of them sporting proud combs and arched, dark tail feathers.

I stopped and stared. They stared back. They were both ridiculous and vaguely menacing. I could clearly imagine them humming to themselves: We’re men! (Manly men!)

As we stared at each other, I had several thoughts:

  1. Who in their right mind decided to keep eight roosters and how do they prevent their neighbors from calling the police every morning when all eight roosters decide to welcome the sunrise—probably well before sunrise?
  2. Do they have a purpose that binds them together in otherwise unheard-of rooster companionship? I’m thinking a vigilante rooster gang that terrorizes loose dogs and ensures safety for one and all. Kind of like Avengers, except with feathers and spurs instead of spandex and metal suits.
  3. Is it a rental rooster program? Nobody wants to deal with a rooster full time so one unlucky sod got stuck with eight fine specimens and he farms them out when different people want more chickens. I would charge exorbitant prices for such a responsibility. These were not meek spineless birds. I could imagine these roosters hotwiring a car and going on a testosterone-induced rampage, if properly insulted.

The wonders of Google inform me that you can actually keep a group of roosters together as long as there are no hens around. That’s interesting, and valuable if you want to do that. But I will keep the image of a copper feathered phalanx, distributing justice to the stray dogs of the world.

 

 

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