The Rooster

    I lived in a rural area during my boyhood and we had a backyard with chickens. This included a mean rooster who spurred anyone who came into "his" space.

   The bullying rooster in this story learns three hard lessons: (1) No matter how tough a person (or rooster) may think he is, there is always someone tougher; (2) no one is better than any other person; and (3) we don't really own anyone or anything, we only have use of it while we are alive.

    In this extra-short story, the mean rooster uses wrestling holds popular in the 60s and 70s to describe his fight with another rooster. If you like the story, please share it with your friends.

The Rooster

I own this place.

      It’s my territory so you better be careful. Yeah, I’m bad.

      Why, just the other day I had to spur a snot-nosed 5-year-old girl for disrespecting me. She lives in the big house on the hill with her parents and tosses me a few measly dried-up corn niblets every day. They stick in my craw.

      But that’s not the worst problem. After school she waltzes into my yard and sings out, “Dudley Doolittle; oh, Dudley Doolittle. Dudley Doolittle, where are you?” She has the gall to sing this embarrassing name in front of my hens. Now they’re laughing at me behind my back.

      I had to do something to save beak.

      The next day I hid behind a tree waiting for her to call me Dudley Doolittle one more time. She passed by without seeing me and that’s when I attacked, Ninja-style. I sneaked up behind her and jumped high into the air, right onto her curly blonde hair. I dug my spurs in deep, furiously flapping my wings to hold on. She screamed and reached back, pulling me off before running home to momma.

      I crowed. In fact, I pranced around my hens and crowed still more. They were impressed by my bravery.

      Mind you, this wasn’t my only encounter with the trespassers living in the big house. They’re the parents of the snot-nosed kid and they also had to learn who was boss around here. Their first lesson was when I caught the little girl’s momma sunbathing in my yard. I jumped on her belly but slid off the sun lotion. She laughed at me, but I’ll get my revenge next time.

      I did jump on her husband’s back one day and didn’t stop spurring until he grabbed me and tossed me aside. He stuck his foot out and I broke a spur off in his ankle. I know it hurt him ‘cause he limped off, threatening to cook me.

      Bring it on!

      Things changed, however, when they brought home a young rooster to replace me. I couldn’t allow that, so I called him out. Holding one wing down as a shield, I circled the newcomer, sizing him up and looking for an opening. I jumped into the air with a flying dropkick, but he dodged me. I fell flat on my back, and he took advantage by putting the old Stomach Claw hold on me. I squirmed loose by kicking his legs out from under him and tossing him over my head in a perfect Suplex maneuver.

      On our feet once more, we again circled each other with our wings down. I grabbed his wing and slung him against a tree, using the Irish Whip move. He bounced off and delivered an illegal karate chop to my windpipe. “Air! I gotta have air!”

      I recovered and we went into street-fighting mode, spurring and sending feathers flying. He was younger and stronger, so I had to slow him down. When he tried another karate chop, I grabbed his wing and bent it across his back in a Half-Nelson hold. He broke free and retaliated with a one-two knee smash to my beak and a heart punch.

      I was weakening and had to put him down quickly. I charged at the pencil-necked geek with a Flying-Scissors hold. Somehow, he got loose, tossed me on my back and applied the Boston Crab on my legs. In a last-ditch effort, I spread my wings across his eyes, using Mr. Moto’s Japanese Sleeper Hold. 

     That stopped him.

      I crowed.

      But it wasn’t over. He woke up and snatched me from behind, dropping me on his knee with the Backbreaker maneuver. Before I could recover, he flipped me upside down and smashed my head into a rock with the Pile Driver.

      I was out cold.         

      When I awoke, he had one foot on my chest and now he was crowing. All my hens ran to him, clucking away. I thought I was Master of the Universe and owned everything, but I was wrong.

      I don’t own diddly-squat.

The End

Copyright © 2018-2019 by Ken Pealock