Queen of the Roost

Well, it is with a heavy heart to have to say that I am selling my young rooster today. Lol, not. That stupid thing is lucky to still have his head. I tried everything from exerting myself as the queen over everything chicken, to befriending and trying to be at his level. I had him eating right out of my hand, btw Mom, that doesn’t work. The guy who had that idea is also on my list. I walked in last night to change out the water, and, BAM, here he comes, running at me , like I had just cut off one of his spurs. All I had to defend myself with was the old, rotten waterer that we fashioned together a year ago from an old cat litter container and the small bucket I use to feed the ungrateful thing with. I shielded his continuous attacks with the ever so rotten and falling apart waterer, and whacked away with the feed bucket. Don’t worry, I held my own, swinging, always making contact with his, oh so stupid head, but it didn’t deter him. My adrenaline was pumping and I didn’t feel the bucket swinging back at me each time I wielded it to hit the rooster in the head. Yep, that’s right, I was hitting myself in the shins with the same instrument I was using to ward off the little maggot. I took at least 4 solid blows to the shins as I was continuously moving backwards trying to exit the little turd’s domain. I came in the house yelling, “Off with his head!” but the king of my domain, being ever so compassionate, sentenced him to exile. I have managed to pawn him off to a poor sap for $10 dollars, which I will use to invest in a new waterer.