True Grit

A few weeks ago I wrote a post about getting attacked by my rooster, who has since been named "Marshal Cogburn" by my husband. I disagree with the name, as I don't believe the rooster exemplifies True Grit, but anyway...

Things have been pretty quiet on the rooster front and I have not been having panic attacks since I started wearing jeans and sneakers instead of shorts and flipflops to the coop. I have also started packing heat when I go out there. Well, I have been carrying a plastic t-ball bat, but it gets the job done.

So this morning my parents were visiting and I headed out to the coop, yellow Little Tykes bat in hand. I let the chickens out, and the hens, who have pretty red combs now and are laying four eggs a day, ran to greet me. The rooster ran too, but not to be friendly. I tried to look non-threatening and walked slowly toward the house, but he matched my pace. We were neck in neck for a minute or two, and then he struck. It was classic Cogburn, talons outstretched, wings flapping. But this time, I was ready. I swung Little Tyke at him and thunked him in the side. Undeterred, he lunged again, and this time I brought the bat down square on his head. He ran away, bawking.

Victory!

But then, he started making this unearthly bawking-gobble sound and flapping his wings. He stumbled sideways and fell over in the grass, dead as a doornail, his neck extended and legs sticking up in the air. My face flushed hot and my hands started shaking. I killed him! I didn't mean to KILL him! I just don't want to get scratched! The hens ran over and looked at him, curiously. I put my hand over my mouth and ran to the house. Once inside, I leaned my back against the door and sunk to the floor. What would I tell the kids? What would they think of me, now that I was a murderer? "It's ok", I told myself, "you had no choice. It was self-defense" I went into the dining room, where they were playing with my mom. "Hey guys, " I said softly. "I...I accidentally killed the rooster." They looked indifferent. "Oh good," Gracie shrugged. "Now he can't scratch us." I sat down at the table, still shaken. "I've never killed anything before," I told my mom. "I really didn't mean to. But he was coming after me, and I just wanted to stop him..." as I sat, staring out the window, the rooster's head poked up out of the grass. A second later, he was back on his feet. "IT'S A MIRACLE!!!" Gracie shrieked,  "HE'S RAISED FROM THE DEAD!"

I watched the rooster shake himself, then walk around in circles for a few minutes. He finally regained his composure and made his way to the woods to rejoin the hens. "Well look at that," I said, "I guess he really does have True Grit."