When I first moved out to the country, I was gifted two stunningly beautiful roosters. They stood proud with their iridescent tail feathers glistening under the sun as they strutted their stuff. I was besotted.
All was well for the first few days. I loved watching them pecking around the forest edge. It was a total Disney fantasy scene from Snow White.
Around the third day in, as I went out to feed them, the jumped down off a rock they were on and took a run at me. They jumped up, flapping their wings and struck me with their feet. Their spurs were razor sharp and it took me a second to realize that I had been stabbed. They backed up and took another run at me. Rather than stand still I advanced towards them. Again they struck me, bing bam with their feet. I tried backing up but they attacked again. Finally I yelled at them, waved my arms and with that they stopped cold and resumed pecking idilly at the ground. Back to the Disney picture.
I had sustained 11 1" deep puncture wounds to my calves. They cleaned me up at the hospital and gave me a tetanus shot.
The next day, the roosters caught and killed something in the forest.
Then they started stalking me in my house. They would watch me through my windows and would come to the window or patio door of the room I was in and bang on the glass. Hard. It was like something out of Hitchcocks, The Birds.
I ended up making soup.
But here's the creepy thing. Immediately after killing one rooster, the other one ran up to the dead one and began violently attacking it like something possessed by the devil.
Some roosters are crazy and I learned that two together is a bad bad combination. It was my first failure at animal husbandry.
My neighbours rooster is as docile and friendly as a puppy. He keeps his hens together, is affectionate towards humans and is a great watch dog.
