Well, I've pretty much had it with Bob. See, he's being a real pain the the buttocks. Down right mean even. So a few days ago I decided to get busy with a little bit of tough love therapy, rooster style.
When Bob comes out of the coop and starts to come after me I just scoop him up and give him a big ol' hug. As you can imagine he doesn't care much for that. In fact if he had panties they'd be in a big ol' bunch. But it did seem like it was starting to help keep him from attacking me. Until this morning.
To say Bob and I had a brief scuffle, would be stating it mildly. He came after me. I scooped him up and gave him a big ol' hug. But when I tried to readjust my grip on him he somehow managed to get close enough to bite my lower lip. And that's when the feathers started flying. I was the one with bunched up panties at that point. And I was bleeding. And I was MAD. Real mad.
Normally when he comes after me I just lift my boot and let him run himself into it. I don't believe in hurting animals so I don't actually use any force against him. He's stupid enough to hurt himself. Today though, I have to admit I helped him a little as I scrambled for the exit holding my lower lip.
So the time has come to make a decision about Bob. So far I've been able to deal with him because he doesn't have any spurs yet. But they're growing fast. It won't be long and he could do some serious damage to someone. I hate having to make this decision. I love that dumb bird.
7 comments:
We used to have a rooster that was old enough to have spurs (BIG SPURS). My hubby who wore boots would let the rooster "run into his foot too." The stupid rooster would spur the boots. Rooster and hubby thought it was funny, until hubby forgot he was wearing regular shoes and rooster flogged his ankles. Rooster wasn't around much longer.
(Part of the reason was because we had a baby who was ready to start walking and I didn't want her to be attacked by rooster.)
Poor Bob. He's just a victim of his hormones. But, you can't have a vicious animal around. Time for The Big Chill. Too bad. He's so pretty. But, Bob...pretty is as pretty does.
If it were me I'd be dipping Bob in some flour and introducing him to a my cast iron skillet!
Try not to name the next one, that might make it a little easier on you.
Hee hee. I'm chuckling over the comments as much as over your post. When I worked for a "major auto insurance company" we had a claim from a guy who was spurred by a wild turkey that came through his windshield. Poor guy thought it was dead and left it in the seat of the car. It came to and spurred the crap out of him. The guy looked like Edward Scissorhands afterwards.
Anyway...I was gonna say poor Bob, but I think poor YOU is more in order! Are you really gonna be able to fry him up, though? I don't think I could do it.
I guess I am just an old softie. I just couldn't eat Bob. I would just try to find a way to live with him. Maybe let him have his own little coop. I really don't know anything about raising chickens so I can't imagine a chicken attacking a person but from reading the comments I guess it is common.
Well, I am with Carol. Please don't hurt Bob! I have a soft spot for roosters since I had a pet one named Pretty Boy.
It's an animal...and people eat animals. But you do need to realize that "Bob" is a rooster that is protecting his roost. If he continues to piss you off, eat him. Afterall, it is the hierarchy of man. Nice blog, I enjoyed reading it.
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