"C"MON!!!!! FIGHT FIGHT!!" yelled the men on the outside of the ring. I walked down the hallway and crept up behind the men. A orange and a black rooster fought viciuosly at eachother, letting out crys of pain and anger. I noticed that the black rooster was much larger then the orange rooster, and the orange one was being beaten down. Memorys flooded my brain as I remembered my Dad telling me about Goldie, his old friend the rooster who died. My father described him in such detail that Goldie sounded like a hero.... but, maybe he was. I snapped back to the present when I heard a bell ring and some of the men shouted in victory, while others swore and kicked at the fence. The gold rooster lay on the ground and the black rooster on top, picking his comb. I watched as the men gathered the winning rooster and left the ring for a break, leaving the gold rooster on the cold ground. Slowly, I approached him and whimpered, "Are you okay?" He raised his bleeding head and clucked softly, afraid of me. Gently I picked him up and put him on my back, then I ran out the door and huddled in a bush with him. "Whats your name?" I asked. "Carrot....." he croaked, then his head dropped again. I looked towards the town and decided to do it. Shivering in the cold air, I walked slowly on the side of the road, the rooster on my back. Mind you, I was a puppy then, no more than 6 months old; so carrying a 8 pound rooster down a icy, slippery, wet, cold, frozen road wasn't the best idea.