Roosters. (Not Cogburn)

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Bob Wright

Bob Wright

Hawkeye
Joined
Jun 24, 2004
Messages
8,597
City & State/Province
Memphis, TN USA
During WW II we had a fair sized chicken yard which kept us in eggs and fried chicken table fare. Dad had one old rooster, he called it a Dominnecker, it was black and white mottled, with that beg red comb he wore like a plumed helmet. And spurs of maybe 3/4" to 1" long. And he had a strong dislike for my entering his domain.

I told my Dad about this ol' boy's antagonism and how he would attack me if I entered the chicken yard. Dad told me to get a stick and whop him one and he'd back down.

I got me a nice stick, about a yard long and maybe 1" or more in diameter. (This is when I was about four years old or so.) So, I ventured into the chicken yard, stick in hand. But then came this blackish blur of feathers and wings, spurs brandished, and I threw down my stick and ran!

I figured I needed another tactic, so went into the house and got my dog, a feisty spitz female and brought her along. I opened the gate for her to go after that rooster. Fluff (that was her name) couldn't discern which was the rooster so went after all. Well, there was a whole squadron of flying chickens in flight, with considerable squawking and feathers floating in the air.

I finally got control of Fluff and things sort of settled down. But we went without eggs for over a week.

Bob Wright
 
My Dad's family all lived on a farm in OK. We'd visit a couple times a year, and at least one family reunion. All the chickens would be loose in the yard pecking at whatever they do. Everybody just walked around and through them, they were part of the landscape. I was basically a city boy that spent time out camping and fishing but hated to get awakened each morning by 'ol Red, what they called their rooster, a pretty generic name I would assume. They did cook up some great fried chicken and the fresh eggs were speckled brown, which I had never seen before. Had their own cow and shine still too! And a pond that my sister and I would float around in inner tubes trying to catch a couple catfish or bream for supper. Grandpa had a rod that had wire wrapped around it, he plugged it into an electric extension cord then stuck it into the ground, the big brown wrigglers would come popping up and we'd pick them up and keep them in an old metal can for fish bait.
AAHHH the good old days!
 
Mobuck said:
My paternal Grandmother had an old white gander goose that often chased me to and/or from the outhouse.
Click to expand...

Lol ! Few people know geese are better watch dogs than most dogs. They can sense trouble a mile off. I was working on a dude ranch back in the day and we had pond full of them, in the winter we'd move them into one of the barns. We never lost one animal to the coyotes or wolves, they'd give out a warning and the boss would be on top of it with his trusty 12 gauge.
 
Mobuck said:
My paternal Grandmother had an old white gander goose that often chased me to and/or from the outhouse. He nipped me pretty hard a few times and I was NOT at all sad when the milk truck driver ran over that goose.
Click to expand...
Before I was married I spent a lot of time at my Grandfather's ranch taking care of cows and horses. He also had a pair of Geese that would sneak up and peck at me when I wasn't looking.
Well one day I was not in the mood to be pecked and one made the mistake of pecking me. I grabbed that goose by the neck and went looking for the hatchet and my Grandmother fixed Goose for dinner. The other one became VERY well mannered after that.
Yes they do make good watch geese but I would prefer a dog, cat, donkey, or anything besides a nasty arsh goose. :)
 
My GrandFather who had a cotton, rice farm and crop dusting operation was without a doubt the kindness man God put on this earth. He saved me and my older Brother from a maniac abusive father the Japanese sent home to my Mother after WWII. He would let us learn about everything regarding farm life and living around animals. I remember overhearing my GrandMother telling him him "Gib we got to take that shotgun away from James, I so damn tired of cooking and eating rabbit I don't know what to do...Those were so sweet days and to this day fawn memories.
 
Bob Wright said:
During WW II we had a fair sized chicken yard which kept us in eggs and fried chicken table fare. Dad had one old rooster, he called it a Dominnecker, it was black and white mottled, with that beg red comb he wore like a plumed helmet. And spurs of maybe 3/4" to 1" long. And he had a strong dislike for my entering his domain.

I told my Dad about this ol' boy's antagonism and how he would attack me if I entered the chicken yard. Dad told me to get a stick and whop him one and he'd back down.

I got me a nice stick, about a yard long and maybe 1" or more in diameter. (This is when I was about four years old or so.) So, I ventured into the chicken yard, stick in hand. But then came this blackish blur of feathers and wings, spurs brandished, and I threw down my stick and ran!

I figured I needed another tactic, so went into the house and got my dog, a feisty spitz female and brought her along. I opened the gate for her to go after that rooster. Fluff (that was her name) couldn't discern which was the rooster so went after all. Well, there was a whole squadron of flying chickens in flight, with considerable squawking and feathers floating in the air.

I finally got control of Fluff and things sort of settled down. But we went without eggs for over a week.

Bob Wright
Click to expand...
LOL - Bob, I love your stories! Keep writing!
Rocko Rizzo.
 
My Dad used to stay with his aunt and uncle on their farm during the summer. They kept a couple chickens. His Uncle George was on a disability pension from the railroad. This was during the Geat Depression so money was tight.
Uncle George gave Dad 2 .22 shells to shoot a rat that had been raiding the eggs.
Dad was around 6-8 years old and UnclbGeorge admonished Dad not to miss him.
After waiting the rat showed himself. Dad took careful aim……and missed.
Uncle George gave Dad the business for missing and wasting a shell.
 
I grew up on a farm in sw OK, about once a month we would visit my aunt and uncle that lived across the river in TX. They had several hogs and chickens, had this huge red rooster that would attack me, and the old folks would laugh. I was about 8-10 yrs, one day i was down by the hog pen a loan, here cane the rooster when ran to flog me i some how managed to grab him by the neck, took about 3 steps and threw him in the hog pen. that is when learned hogs will eat anything
 
jimbo1096 said:
My Dad's family all lived on a farm in OK. We'd visit a couple times a year, and at least one family reunion. All the chickens would be loose in the yard pecking at whatever they do. Everybody just walked around and through them, they were part of the landscape. I was basically a city boy that spent time out camping and fishing but hated to get awakened each morning by 'ol Red, what they called their rooster, a pretty generic name I would assume. They did cook up some great fried chicken and the fresh eggs were speckled brown, which I had never seen before. Had their own cow and shine still too! And a pond that my sister and I would float around in inner tubes trying to catch a couple catfish or bream for supper. Grandpa had a rod that had wire wrapped around it, he plugged it into an electric extension cord then stuck it into the ground, the big brown wrigglers would come popping up and we'd pick them up and keep them in an old metal can for fish bait.
AAHHH the good old days!
Click to expand...
My Pap Pap had the same trick. He split an extension cord and attached the ends to old TV antennas that he stuck in the ground. Those Nightcrawlers couldn't get out of the ground fast enough.
 
When we moved from the burbs out to the country 20+ years ago, the place came with 10 hens and a big old rooster named Nugget. He was fairly docile but had one heck of a scary set of spurs. A couple of years later with more birds hatched to upgrade the layers, we had a young cocky rooster named Rowdy. Of course Rowdy and Nugget would fight and eventually Nugget lost out to the younger quicker Rowdy. For several days the old guy disappeared then show back up covered in dried blood and limping.
I was out of town and the wife could not watch the old guy getting picked on. She said he was covered with flies and the young guy would not leave him alone. So she decided to finish him off herself. We both had years in the meat industry so she found a long white meat cutters coat and went out with the headboard revolver. She figured the coat would help avoid any splatter/red mist. So I asked her where she shot him and she says which time. She said the first time from about 10 feet, she had missed. So she got closer and the second shot took his head off and there was no splatter. I asked if she had worn ear protection. Huh---ya that's what I figured--lesson learned. The headboard revolver is a S&W model 640 in 357. There has been no next time, but if/when it happens I bet she grabs some head phones.
A few days later I get home and have to deal with the carcass now covered with yellowjackets. I waited until after dark to toss him over the fence for the local coyotes, but when I saw the spurs close up I had to grab a hatchet first and retain the feet. A friend is into the mountain man art stuff so he made me an Indian medicine stick and used one of the feet.







The cocky young Rowdy became a sparring buddy with my son, who at the time was in his early teens. He would go head to head with Rowdy and slap fight him. When he jumped to spur, he would get his face slapped. Do to this constant badgering he turned into an ornery cuss and could not be trusted. As long as you faced him, he was not a problem, but if you turned your back, he would rush you with spurs up. After going through a few random sticks, I finally found the proper training tool---a golf club from a thrift store. After a taste of the steel and surely seeing stars a few times, he wised up and would not bother any adults with the golf club in hand. We never trusted him around any kids, and eventually another young cocky rooster gave him the beat down. The current rooster is again fairly docile, but I still don't turn my back in him.
 
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Mom would buy 500 checks every spring to be Sunday lunch. When I married my wife I would not let her fix chicken for almost 10 years. With 6 kids mom and dad went through a lot of eggs. We ate a lot of rabbit also as dad was a truck driver hauling cars and every model change he would be laid off for 10 weeks and he liked to hunt.
 
Roosters, Bulls and Stallions are going to have a personality requiring respect. At least a rooster would be able to put a hurt on minor predators that show up and maybe even make a few bigger ones think about it.
 
I spent a lot of time at my dad's parents' farm. They had a flock of geese with a mean old gander. One of those white ones with the big orange top knot. Mean as hell, if you were not paying attention he would slip up behind you and bite you on the butt or calf of your leg. Felt like a pair of pliers grabbing you. I was 8 or 9 when I found an old ball bat in an old wood building on the farm that had been the blacksmiths shop. Carried it beside my leg and walked around the yard awhile and here came the goose. Tried to hit a home run but missed the head and hit him in the middle of the neck. Did not kill him, but Grandma never could figure out why that goose had a crooked neck.
 
I could write a ballad (and probably should since he is dead and gone) about Dickey Smith and the one eyed rooster.

Dickey Smith was a 215 pound 6'2" ex Army Ranger who went to war with his wife's rooster. It lasted over 6 weeks with Dickey showing up at work frequently with serious lacerations on many body parts. He would be marked on his forehead and face, arms or calf's. I still laugh today about the stories he would tell. His young wife LOVED that rooster, so the war was really lop-sided (two against one).

The rooster would attack, Dickey would try to defend himself, his wife would run out scream not to hurt here rooster. Feathers, Chaos, Cursing, and Tears... The perfect stuff for a ballad. We would laugh our butts off at work hearing the latest stories.

The bird would ambush him from the roof, from under his porch, it even came out from hiding under his truck to spur his legs as he was climbing it to go to work. He had to have sutures on two occasions.

There never was a peace settlement. The rooster died in combat with Dickey. I am smiling even now thinking back to Dickey and his war with the one eyed rooster.

I do wish I could own a rooster and maybe a couple of chickens today, but there is an HOA....

v/r arcee
 
I had to chuckle at the story of Dickey & the one eyed rooster. I used to have a one eyed game cock that was a gentle soul in my hands. But other roosters,, that one eyed bird was king.
I could tell all kinds of stories about roosters, as I raised chickens off & on for years. And I also live in the country where having chickens is normal.
 
Anyone who brings a rooster into a suburb need the Clockwork Orange treatment. Subjecting unwilling neighbors to that should be locked in a cage with 20 spurred roosters for a week. At least I'm rural. They're a few hundred yards away. My neighbors know not to complain about the occasional gunfire from my house. We also get free eggs every now and then.
 
We had hogs, chickens, (and way too many roosters) and peacocks on a place I was caretaking. You want something to stand you right up, have some peacocks screaming outside your bedroom window early in the morning.

 
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WE had a HUGE Rhode Island Red that would spur you anytime you weren't looking. He chased little brother and opened up his leg one day. Mom didnt want him killed, so I took a strip of latigo leather off an old saddle. I put 2 slits in the leather and caught that rooster. I then pushed his legs and spurs into the slits, in a nutshell, I made a set of hobbles for him. He would walk but not could spur or run at you. The leather strap stayed for months until it rotted off. Ol' Red kept walking with short steps for a year afterward. Good times back then.
Wife has geese, ducks, chickens and guineas at the farm now. Love guineas because they are death on insect and snakes. Geese are loud and obnoxious, and the hens provide breakfast... When we were infested with locust years ago, the birds were released and they decimated the little critters in no time flat.
 
When I was about 5 & living in Waco, TX. Dad put up some hutches in the back yard, and stocked them with baby guinea hens. Sis and I were charged with caring for them, feeding, cleaning out the cages, letting them out in the yard every day. They were one of my first encounters with domesticated animals. Then one day Dad said to get the ole girls out of the pens, and he proceeded to chop off their heads. My sis and I were horrified watching those headless birds running around in the yard until they ran out of juice. We didn't eat dinner that night but Mom and Dad had a good fried chicken dinner.
 
I may have posted this rooster story before ??..
My sister years back started raising chickens and ended up with a large very nasty rooster. We were under orders not to kill him.
He'd attack most anybody in the barn other than her, you could punt him, beat him with a driving crop, smack him with a stall muck
fork...nope still coming. Tried getting a hold of him when suitably dressed and carrying him around upside down by his feet and spinning
him a few times, nope, toss him down and 5 minutes later he'd be back.
He got to the point he'd come out of HIS barn and go after you sometimes. Was outside washing some equipment with our power washer,
it's a 4000 psi at a bit over 4 gallons a minute running 10-15 degree tip. He came after me so I'd blow him away with the power washer.
I think I rolled him and knocked him down close to ten times before he finally gave up. He'd get on his feet and turn his back to it
and just stand there, and as soon as I'd pull it off him be right on the attack. I think he finally just got tired and walked off.
 
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