Once upon a time, we had chickens. There was Henrietta, Dotty, FeeFee, Chipple, and ... Chippy.
We got them when they were tiny little balls of fluff with beaks and we raised them in a box in our house until they got too big and had to be moved into an enclosure in the great outdoors.
We soon realized that Chippy was different. Chippy, was a rooster.
Or at least he was supposed to be. He never really quite got the crowing down. Every other day or so, around noon, he made this warbling noise that sounded like a cross between a broken vacuum cleaner and hyperventilating toad.
This may make Chippy sound somewhat endearing, but trust me, deep down he was a terrible and evil creature capable of heinous acts.
One day I went to collect the eggs. That's when Chippy came whirling around a corner and attacked me with everything he had.
And believe me, that chicken could bring it. He was a beast, a monster, and he definitely had some pterodactyl blood in him.
Quite honestly, I don't remember a lot of that fight. I've tried to block it from my mind. There was.... a lot of feathers. I remember kicking and kicking with all the strength of your average crying scrawny small child.
I lost that fight that day. I lost the fight with the Chippy the rooster. I never ventured into that enclosure again whilst Chippy was there.
You could say that he was just being territorial and that is very common in roosters. And your average child would not lose a fight to a chicken. But I know that Chippy was just plain evil.
To this day, a rooster's crow makes my blood turn to ice and my heart stop. I'm still a little nervous around small animals. You never know what they're planning.
A note: This, like all my other embarrassing stories is completely true. I was beaten up by an adolescent chicken as a small child. Although my family remembers Chippy a little differently:
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