I have learned that a rooster has a purpose and that is to protect the chickens and to fertilize the eggs. BUT, there is another purpose for a rooster and that is to scare the heebie jeebies out of you when you come into the chicken pen. Pecker was the name of our rooster (my husband named him). I don't let Steve name many of the animals. One day while in the chicken pen on the way to gather eggs, Pecker looked at me with his head cocked to the side. He wasn't looking straight at me, roosters don't do that, they  walk around looking at you out of the side of their eyes thinking you won't notice. I think that is where the term, "cock eyed" comes from. I knew that at any moment he would fly at me and try to flog me with those spurs on his feet.

I always wear rubber boots that are at least one size too big so I can get them on and off easily when going in and out of the house to work with the animals or in the garden. Anyway, I had my regular rubber boots on and just as Pecker lurched toward me, I kicked at him to protect myself and my boot went flying across the chicken pen. There I was hopping on one foot with a crazed rooster making unwanted advances in my direction. I didn't want to put my other foot down because of all the chicken poop. I had forgotten my rooster stick. I was in deep chicken doo doo that day.
You see, Pecker was a beautiful rooster, but look at those spurs on the back of his chicken feet. He would try to stab you with those things and ride like a cowboy. As the years progressed, Pecker became more and more dangerous. One day while I was tending to some baby goats in the goat pen, Pecker was out and about and  I didn't notice he was close by (that is when he was the bravest), he flew at me and stabbed me with those spurs. My leg instantly swelled and became very sore. I was sick for awhile and had to take several weeks of antibiotics after that incident. 

About a month before Pecker the rooster went to chicken heaven, I was outside with my trusty rooster wacker stick  when Pecker came running at me; whenever he did that it made my heart beat fast and sent loads of adrenalin rushing through my body. That day I swung at him and hit him in the head; he went down and appeared to be dead. He just laid there not moving at all. I had a fleeting moment of regret feeling badly that I had killed the rooster. I knew I had to go get my gloves and haul his carcass off. I walked to get my gloves and came back, bending over I reached to pick him up when all of a sudden his eyes opened, somewhat dazed, he got up.  I screamed and ran in the other direction. That crazy rooster had survived another day.
I had merely knocked him unconscious. From that day forward, I decided that the chickens didn't need to have a rooster around to lay eggs! I think the chickens were relieved when he was gone as well.

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