I am babysitting my grandson for a week while my daughter is out of town. I had forgotten how hard it is to get anything done with a young'un around. And My house and place are far from kid-friendly these days. I finally got out to feed the chickens with him in tow, trying to keep him fairly close because of the free ranging roosters. They don't bother any of us, but seem to think a three year old is competition and fair game. We got to the Japanese banties and they needed pine shavings in their cages. I was on the last one and got careless, because as I scooped in the shavings, the little rooster exploded past me into the yard. Immediately there were 3 orpingtons after him, running and pouncing. Poor liitle guy with his short legs was doing his best to scurry away, but not very successfully. I ran to his rescue, but of course, he just saw me as another threat, and when the other roosters took off, so did he. Right for the creek bank. I picked my way through briars to get to him, with him getting closer and closer to the drop off at the edge of the creek bank, an orp roo cutting off his escape in the other direction. I finally approached him, thinking he was cornered in the briars, but he gave another valiant effort and bailed down to the edge of the creek and almost into the water. This is a cypress creek with very steep banks. I reached for him, and as I did, my feet slipped out from under me and there I sat, straddle of a young sapling, with no purchase for my feet. I did get him, though, and stuffed him victoriously into my jacket and zipped it up. Now I had to figure out how to get out of my predicament. I was sitting at the edge of the bank, straddle a tree, with my feet at the water level. I could hear the guineas yelling above me, and was sure that the roosters were terrorizing, or worse, my grandson, who had been left at the Japanese pens when the excitement began. There was absolutely no grip for my boots, my feet just slipped out from under me. One foot finally caught on a root my heel had dug out of the muddy bank. If I slipped, I would be in water most likely over my head in short order, very cold water. I managed to get my weight onto the root and twist around enough to get my leg swung around the sapling, hugging it for support. I reached up the bank as far as I could, and finally managed to grab the base of some of the briars. With this, I was able to get first one, then the other knee up on the bank itself. All this, of course, trying not to squash the poor rooster in my jacket. Once I had my knees up under me, I made short work of crawling up the bank, grabbing small brush stems, or briars or whatever I could to keep me from sliding back down. I arrived back at the Japanese pen, face scratched, out of breath, to find my grandson standing there face to face with a rooster. He looked up at me and said matter of factly, "Oh, there you are". The rooster was dumped unceremoniously back in his pen with a warning that next time I would let the big boys have him. I don't think he was listening, he looked indignant at his treatment, gave his feathers a good shake all around, and strutted over to his feed dish to eat. "Come on, Nick" I said, "I need a cup of coffee."