I've scanned a picture of my cock for you
Oct. 17th, 2005
I have so many stories about my rooster, Tequila, it's hard to know where to begin or what to cover with him. The most impressive thing about him was that he was (not on record) one of the world's largest cocks. The last he was weighed he was 23 pounds, which in the chicken world is extremely big.
I'd gotten him and another chick when I was 14. They were the last pair of fowl that I owned in a series of feathered friends (cockatiels, pigeons, chickens, peacocks, and chickens again). Lacking social interaction from humans, I was about as imprinted on them as they were me. I'd come home from school and take them out for walks where I'd uncover tastey goodies for them to eat under rocks. Tequila was always vigorous to eat the worms, hence his name. The other's name was Little Henny, as she was so much smaller than he was. At that point I assumed that they were both pullets [girls], and that maybe Little Henny was just a runt. I think it was late fall when he started to crow, and I knew the truth... They'd stuck me with a cock, and Henny wasn't a runt.. Tequila just happened to be extremely large.
This was sort of a bad thing. Imprinted roosters will attack people, I'd learned that with my previous pair of chickens whom I'd had to give up because of the rooster's attacks on my younger brother. So I distanced myself from him and spent more time with Little Henny, whom I adored. Tequila was so grotesque in comparison to her. It makes me sad I have no picture of her.
They both grew and grew and by winter they were full both fully feathered. One very cold winter morning I went out to the chicken coop and had a feeling something bad had happened. I opened the door to fine Little Henny, frozen dead in the "mount" position. It appeared to have been a violent, not cold induced, death.
This picture was taken the summer of 1996, after Henny was gone. I exacto-knifed it out and it has moved from highschool locker, to college dorm-mirror, to wallet over the years. He lived with us for the rest of that summer. When he was out he would attempt to attack by running up from behind and sumo-bounching into the back of your leg with his giant, uh.. chicken breast?...and then he'd hide under a bush.
My parents and I decided that it would be best if the lone rooster went to live on a farm with other chickens, but unfornately when my dad was driving him there Tequila had a heart attack and died.
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