Man Vs. Rooster a true story

They say that every man has an enemy, someone who for whatever reason is decidedly anti-you. I have never believed this, saying that enemies are made in this modern day by how you relate to people. This was until I met my very own personal enemy who hated me merely because I exist. The following post is how I happened to come across my enemy.

It all began innocently enough, the home has been full of children so hearing children crying is nothing of great concern, usually it’s as a result of disagreements which include declarations of broken friendships which are quickly amended within five minutes. Little did I know a terror as bleak as Siberia had spread its influence upon our peaceful yard!

So it came time for the little ones to head home, but the idea resulted in them bursting in tears and the declaration that sealed my fate; they were scared of chickens! My first reaction was fear that the next generation of our family was going to be more than chicken they were going to be scared of chicken! Family pride was on the line; I had to rectify this. So I called the group together and marched them towards home in full confidence after all what is a chicken. Now along the way there was a tap which I told the boys to wash their feet, and any chicken that came near I told them to tell it “kwenda!” which being normal chickens they did; they scurried off much to the pleasure of the boys and much to my happiness having taught the boys a life lesson…This I was soon to discover was a grave error, from in the distance a red and black flash was falling upon up with Spartan fury. Wisely the young boys fled, and I assuming nothing of the flash stood my ground. This was my second error which was necessitated by the first. The angriest rooster on the planet was racing towards me, in the decisive moment still thinking this was an ordinary chicken I too raced towards it calling its bluff. A real game of chicken was afoot the rooster armed with beak and talons, me armed with little else other than my wits. Having already put my family pride on the line I was not about to accept defeat easily, after all the nephews were watching from a safe distance with blurry tear and terror filled eyes. The battle was on! At the decisive moment I swerved to my left in order to give my strong kicking foot the necessary thrust of an intent filled swipe at the hateful rooster. Thinking even a miss would frighten the animal. The agile rooster read my intent and dodged and counter attacked claws first. I feinted again to the left and spun expecting a palpable hit and a round-housed rooster begging for mercy. However only the air tasted my fury and the rooster had no intention of retreating. The battle continued for a few minutes with attack and counter attack from both sides until finally the jogoo made a critical mistake of falling for my dummy kick and proceeded to attack where upon it met a fury laced kick to the head and fell back. Prematurely I declared victory but the rooster was no David Haye and again attacked, again I landed a kick to its chest the tide of battle had turned, feeling my advantage had been established I stepped back (not wanting to kill another man’s chicken) Though looking in the rooster’s eyes I saw abhorrence; maybe it has an idea what me and my kind (black folk) had done to millions of his people. Maybe it was just a hateful rooster, but even in its retreat, it still had the spirit to fight on, as a result a Mexican stand-off ensued. Each step was met with a counter, until I had moved far enough, from there the chicken ran off to do what angry chickens do. My next move was to quickly move the boys home which I did with relative ease though the threat of the rooster was ever present. Then I had to make my way back, In order to do this I enlisted my trustworthy dogs as my auxiliary should the battle of jogoo have a part duex, however I made it back without any problems, but knowing full well I now have a bitter enemy. What I didn’t know prior to the battle is the chicken had terrorized the children, having chased on, and jumped on another’s back, it also had a reputation of chasing everybody.

I now have an enemy; should I ever meet the angry rooster again in the field of battle, only one of us will come out alive, and to the victor goes the breast and thigh piece! I believe that the victor will gain the strength of the defeated by consuming the flesh! And on that day I will have my bottle of hawt sauce ready, and I’ll have my face painted for battle. I only wish death (and the coronel’s secret spices) to my enemy!