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dpack
Joined: 02 Jul 2005 Posts: 46052 Location: yes
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Mistress Rose
Joined: 21 Jul 2011 Posts: 15834
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dpack
Joined: 02 Jul 2005 Posts: 46052 Location: yes
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Shan
Joined: 13 Jan 2009 Posts: 9075 Location: South Wales
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Mistress Rose
Joined: 21 Jul 2011 Posts: 15834
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Shan
Joined: 13 Jan 2009 Posts: 9075 Location: South Wales
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dpack
Joined: 02 Jul 2005 Posts: 46052 Location: yes
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mal55
Joined: 15 Jul 2009 Posts: 168 Location: Erewash or in the dog house
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Posted: Wed May 31, 23 2:59 pm Post subject: |
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I thought I'd share this with the forum members. It's absolutely true – as true as a chap my age can remember being six anyway. It is a story from when the World was a far happier place, and an event that I will always remember with tears of laughter filling my eyes.
THE TALE OF THE KILLER CHICKEN
I had one of those wonderful, magical childhoods that modern parents think they can pay for but can't. I was one of those feral, rural kids brought up by a pack of small dogs – other people's of course and spent my days running wild in open countryside and woods, plodging in ponds and ditches with wellies full of muddy water and frog spawn. A privileged childhood in many ways.
I was lucky to grow up in a small village on the edge of the Lincolnshire Wolds. There was nothing but fields behind the house for as far as the eye could see. There were about 300 people in the village so everyone knew everyone else and kept an eye on us kids. It was a peaceful, safe environment where we could spend whole days out across the fields without anyone worrying.
Nearly everyone seemed to keep chickens and Mr Blades two doors up had some pure white ones he was fattening up for Christmas. I've no idea what breed they were, only that even allowing for my small size, they were enormous. Of course, those days were less politically correct and concerned with animal welfare and health issues than today, so the cockerels had been chemically castrated, ie. had a hormone implant to neuter them and increase their size. Of course today physically castrating a cock is seen as cruel and chemically treating them as dangerous so true "capons" are a thing of the past. Chemically castrated cocks aren't something you'd want fed to your sons on a regular basis anyway and you CERTAINLY wouldn't want to feed it to your daughters as the chemical was used to bring bitches into season.
For some reason, I don't know if it was intended to be for Easter or just because they had too many to eat, one of the cockerels wasn't knocked off and thanks to the implant, it grew and grew until it was huge. It was built like an East German weightlifter. Its neck started at its ears and went diagonally to the outside of its shoulders. It was a right monster of a bird. There was no problem with it. It had the quiet nature of a hen and kept itself to itself. Then, slowly the implant stopped working. I suppose it had run out or perhaps been so diluted by the sheer bulk it had to work on it couldn't cope. The upshot was that this vast docile chicken suddenly reverted to its proper vicious roosterly behaviour. It was like the Incredible Hulk on a bad day! It attacked other peoples chooks. Shaun, the Portess’s Alsatian (as they were then) was terrified by it and worst of all, it took to attacking people .
Well it got to the stage where the whole street was being terrorized by this killer chicken. Women would put their washing out as quickly as possible in case it was around and we never went out on our own. You'd hear it roaming the street like a velociraptor screaming this "F*** OFFFF!" cry that sounded incredibly rude back in the days when kids got a clip round the ear'ole for swearing – words like “bum,” or “titties”. This state of affairs went on for what seemed like ages before this feathered Godzilla made a big mistake. Catching little Carol Blades on her own, it went for her and Mr. Blades went ballistic!
Now Mr Blades wasn't a big man, but he was a HGV driver and in those days they didn't have all these ponsey power steering and easy shift gear box gizmos. You needed strength! You had to be able to eat chocolate COLD. He also looked quite a bit like Charlie Drake. Even now I can't think of him without expecting him to say, “ Allo my darlin's.”
SO. The scene is set. Cue "High Noon" music as Mr Blades heads for a showdown. The street clears. Faces appear at upstairs windows as he fetches the axe from the shed. Neighbours grit their teeth at the sound of whetstone on blade. Silence descends. Even the songbirds fall silent as he stalks the bu**er and corners it down by the shed. He goes for it axe raised. The chook, realising he isn't coming for a friendly tête á tête, cocks its head on one side and fixes him with one evil yellow eye and then flies for him in a flurry of wings, flying beak and hooked talons and the unexpected, the UNTHINKABLE happens. Mr Blades BACKS OFF! The Cockerel seizes its' advantage and follows up in a blizzard of swearing and flying feathers and as Mr Blades lets go of his axe to fight the brute off and with a collective, practically audible gasp of awe from the watchers, it shoves him through the six foot hedge. As he lies there dazed and battered amongst the wreckage of his prized privet hedge, the chook wanders amiably away, clucking contentedly to himself, all conflict forgotten.
Mr Blades picked himself up, moseyed out of town and came back with the posse. Well a rather bemused Mr Rowson from the farm at the bottom of the street anyway, armed with an ill suppressed laugh, quaking sides and a shotgun. We didn't see the final act. It happened behind the shed. Just one sharp shriek of pain, a cry of “YOU BLUDDY BA$T@RD!!!” then the sharp crack of the gun and it was all over as Mr. Rowson reappeared, a bloody peck mark on his bald head and his flat cap askew, a thin trickle of smoke coiling itself up from the barrel of the shotgun like something out of RinTinTin. Life quickly got back to normal again. Mums chatted as they hung washing out. kids walked to friends alone and roller skated in peace. Dads enjoyed a fag whilst doing the digging. Mr Vessey got back to teaching the blackbirds how to whistle “ Please Release Me" out of tune whilst mowing stripes into his already immaculate lawn. And Mr Blades? Mr Blades was eating "that bloody chicken!" until he was sick of it. He never did fatten any more. In fact he stopped keeping chickens altogether. We never did understand why. |
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dpack
Joined: 02 Jul 2005 Posts: 46052 Location: yes
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Posted: Wed May 31, 23 5:45 pm Post subject: |
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that critter was a dangerous beast, im not surprised he stopped keeping birds, he may have been asked not to
a chum told me a moo story that went the other way with hormones, the testerone implants in the steers were supposed to last a few months, they released in a few hours, when he got there a couple of days later as a first response insurance loss adjuster, he saw them and what they were doing, and agreed the claim to have them popped with a big gun in a couple of minutes without getting out of the car cos the farmyard was a mayhem of sex and violence and jumping in and out of the pens for fun
===========================
fond as i am of chooks some are impossible to tolerate.
if they are, with a gun from a safe distance makes sense to me
once they are up close a gun is a minimal advantage, im not sure if an edged close combat weapon would help once they are on you
i brained rapist rooster against a fence post after what seemed like a lifetime of blocking most strikes at my face and neck until i could grab it and dispatch it, again.
that time it stayed dispatched
it was probably the worst thing/s i have ever fought, certainly more memorable than i care to repeat (and hopefully it will never happen again)
PS i am very kindly and usually savagely efficient when harvesting food or culling or exterminating vermin, RR was a horrible exception |
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Mistress Rose
Joined: 21 Jul 2011 Posts: 15834
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dpack
Joined: 02 Jul 2005 Posts: 46052 Location: yes
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gz
Joined: 23 Jan 2009 Posts: 8792 Location: Ayrshire, Scotland
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dpack
Joined: 02 Jul 2005 Posts: 46052 Location: yes
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