I went for a walk in my new neighbourhood the other day and met a rooster. I'm not used to seeing random roosters, out and about, all on their own, so naturally I felt the need to inquire into his well being. Our conversation went a little like this;
Me: Are you lost, Mr Rooster?
Mr Rooster: Gazed nonchalantly at me which I interpreted as,"Hey lady, do I look like I need a chaperone?"
Me: You are a terribly handsome fellow.
Mr Rooster a.k.a. Little Red: Gazed nonchalantly at me which I interpreted as, "Always have been a bit of a chick-magnet. The main rooster in the hen house. Ruffled more than a few feathers in my time, let me tell you." Gaze followed by an almost, sort of, possible wink.
Me: Do you have enough to eat out here?
Little Red: Gazed nonchalantly at me which I interpreted as, "I am a chicken of means, but I have been known to accept bribes. Whatcha got?"
Me: Oh. Um...sorry...I don't actually have any food on me. If I'd known our paths were going to cross, I would've packed some rooster friendly delicacies.
Little Red: The laid back expression persisted, conveying something along the lines of, "Hey, no harm done, just make sure you bring something tasty with, next time you're in the neighbourhood. I'll keep a look out for ya."
Apparently, Little Red is just one of many. Apparently, there is a free range colony living further up the hill. I can't wait to meet them. I am soooo intrigued by the idea of a gang of bachelor roosters. My speculations about their community dynamics have lead me to affectionately give them the title of The Rooster Mafia. I figure that a group of testosterone fueled man birds will have a well established pecking order. A mob leader, whose commands must be obeyed, at all costs. Or else. I bet he gets to crow first. Naturally, those on the bottom rung will have devious plans afoot to over throw the dictator and rule the roost. I imagine it will be kinda like Lord of the Flies, poultry style.
I bought these no doubt fabulous fellows a bag of wheat. Slightly nervous about the idea of feeding them though, truth be told. But perhaps they are used to tasty treats from random humans. They might form a polite orderly line. Or even turn up their noses, so to speak, if they're used to more upmarket offerings. Or...I might get mobbed. Trampled in the stampede. Crushed under chicken foot. Smothered. Suffocated beneath a feather blanket. Not that far fetched, given my spindly disposition, my unco tendencies, and my feather allergy.
Would be kinda funny, I think. I can see the newspaper headlines already... "Woman escapes the perils of an earthquake ravaged city, only to be pecked to death by a mob of unruly roosters." Although that's probably a little wordy for a headline...let's see if I can truncate it a bit... "Quake survivor target of Rooster Mafia hit." The idea amuses me. There are worst ways to go, I'm sure. And far more mundane ways, too. I'd like to qualify for the Darwin Awards, when the time comes...(Did I just say that out loud...?)
I actually did take a photo of Little Red, but it didn't come out very well, so you will have to imagine how handsome he is. Don't hold back. Instead, I will introduce a new feature of this blog, from now on to be known as an RBP, or Random Bug Photo.
Check out the cuddling cicadas;