My brother-in-law sent his four teenage kids out to clean the barn. They all came running back in claiming that a rooster kept attacking them.
The rooster in question was a tiny little Bantam that wasn’t much bigger than a Quail.
Naturally, the kids were yelled at for shirking their duties and sent back out to the barn. Like a boomerang they came back again, complaining bitterly about the vicious rooster.
Later that day, my brother-in-law went out to clean the barn. He was pretty ticked off that the kids hadn’t done their chores, and madder yet because they used the dumb little mouse-sized rooster as their excuse.
He grabbed the pitch fork and started throwing manure into the spreader. Sure enough, the tiny rooster attacked him, beating at his legs with wings and using talons to claw. My brother-in-law swung one leg back to kick the rooster off him, slipped in the wet manure and landed on his face.
The tiny rooster, emboldened due to the imminent defeat of his foe, leaped onto his adversary’s back and in a flurry of feathers, claws and beak continued to attack my brother-in-law while he was face down in the wet manure.
…
My sister returned home from work to see her husband at the stove cooking dinner in a frying pan. With an almost manic smile on his face, he proudly held up a fork with a tiny chicken drumstick at the end of it. The rooster started out strong, but had lost the battle.
