That damned rooster! He drew blood yesterday. My blood. I had even given him and his gaggle a lot whole lot of scratch to keep them occupied but no sooner had I turned my back to cut some dahlias when… wham! He came at me feet and claws first, wings flapping. I booted him into the middle of the next flower bed but he recovered instantly and chased me all the way to the back door.

Once inside, I pulled up my right pant leg to assess the damage. Bloody hell! Doctored myself with rubbing alcohol and Neosporin. Cursed the fact that Farmer Nyel was not here to take an axe to Mr. RedDevil and contemplated the not-so-glorious fact that when it comes to Fight or Flight, I consistently choose the latter.

I don’t know anything about rooster testosterone – or even if they have such a thing, although I’ve read that small amounts are found in most vertebrates. And, just for the record, testosterone is linked to aggressive behavior. I’m pretty sure this rooster is ‘full of it’ as they say. And, though human females also have their own small share, I don’t think I have enough for fowl confrontation.

You’d think that I could take on a rooster. But… no. I’m obviously a chicken (no, make that a weenie) in that regard. I’ve read that ‘fight to the death’ is in a good rooster’s DNA. I am not ready to test that. I just want the end result, though if anyone out there wants a good-looking rooster I would make a free gift of him. You catch him and bring your own box. I think I’ll make a sign:
                                                            ROOSTER ON THE HOOF
                                                             YOU CATCH, HE’S YOURS
                                                             FREE WITH BANDAIDS