This is Ember, my year-old Belgian D'anvers rooster. He was a completely impromtu rescue, along with Scorch and Firestar, that I confiscated by hitting a guy with my purse. The requested tale:
My mom and I were driving through the middle of the woods a few towns away from ours. We come upon this short, fat Italian guy darting across the road in pursuit of some escapee bantams. We pull over, and I, being the chicken fanatic of the family, was the one to go confront the guy, noting the bashed open chicken crate that seemed to have been thrown from the truck.
"Hello, sir. Are you in need of assistance?"
He looks up and gives me a glare. "No, no, no, little girl like you no help. Go mind own business."
I bite my lip, about ready to scream. "You could use my help. I assure you. Where are you taking these?"
"Butcher. Little bratitos, they hurt-a me."
Running scared like lost wind-up toys, these three roos looked about as formidable as flies. "I'll pay you for them."
Italian dude regards me with the utmost disdain. "No, no, no- I need-a my dinner. You wimpy little girl; no control over bratitos."
I tap my foot against the road in irritation as I heard Mom snickering from the car. "I know how to deal with a few little roosters, sir."
Italian dude makes a cuckoo motion near his head and walks away in a huff, futilely attempting to catch a bolting OEGB.
Now thoroughly enraged, I stalked foward and pivoted to face him. "Sir, I want these roosters. Look, I'll pay you." I flipped open my purse and fanned a handful of bills in his face.
Italian guy makes a face reminiscent of a sneering hyena. "Little girl-a foolish. Rash and inexperienced." He veered aside to avoid me and began to creep up on one of the D'anvers.
I am spitting with rage at his undermining egotistical attitude and I dart in front of him. I pull my arm back with all my night and hit him square in the gut with my purse. "Sir, you obviously can't catch these roosters. Bantams make a terrible dinner. I am no little girl and I expect a fair business offer to be taken seriously." I shoved the ten bills into his hands. "Leave, take this, and go buy yourself a ready-made chicken dinner." I spun on my heels and went to claim my spirited roosters from the woods. "Enjoy your meal."
He cursed a couple of times, and actually left. LOL
And then I walk by our Jeep, and Mom is guffawing so hard her face is red.
She enjoyed this so much.
He has settled in quite well with my flock and has a particularly strong affection for Mocha, my Buff Brahama bantam. As one of the sacred few I have successfully leash-trained, Ember is now the star of our local elderly communities and 4-H as a 'therapy chicken'.
As these pictures portray, he is quite the active little fellow- this was a photo shoot that spanned maybe 8 minutes....
Keep on howling,
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