Yeah, we had that problem with our rooster before. He kept attacking our youngest brother, and our small cousins whenever they visited us. He’s a real a-hole that guy. He even tried to attack ME when I wasn’t looking.
Don’t argue. How many humans are like that?
Coq au vin is an excellent solution to this kind of problem.
Guinea fowl are better at dealing with ticks.
It was my chore to feed the chickens. So, early Sunday, my grandad would take me out to the chicken coop. He’d ask me if any of these chickens had been giving me a hard time. “That one! That one, right there!” My grandad would seize him by the head and give him the helicopter treatment.
My soul cleansed, it was off to Sunday School. Sublime.
If you think roosters are bad, you should get some geese.
You think geese are bad, you should get some turkeys.
We’ve only had one accidental rooster, Blossom. He was an awesome friendly, personable pet chicken, but he and half a dozen hens went to a friend’s house and were integrated into their population of about twenty.
It was like a bad scene from a prison movie.
The lowest rooster went after him, and he continued to work his way up the hierarchy, kicking ass and taking names. Within the space of a week, he was top rooster. Blossom was king of the yard.
Hens didn’t fair so well. While Blossom was taking over the world, they were getting gang raped behind the potting shed.
Blossom’s Redemption:: an interesting and compelling short story, told in only 100 words or so. Well done. 
Well, I should think so!
What else would expect to find there? Fur?
just ask him if he wants to be like Mike. he’ll get the message.
Indeed. With 2 acres to prowl around, fucking rooster sets up camp right under the bedroom window to start crowing at fucking 4:30 in the morning.
And then there are the “crowing wars” between the one in one corner of the ranch, and the response from the other asshole on the opposite side. Call, response, repeat. All. Fucking. Day.
(Cock)Suckers!
I think the OP needs a vacation. Maybe the lovely island of Kauai in sunny Hawaii…
Mrs. J. has noted that Jack Russell terriers are the assholes of the dog world.
I’m wondering why you would be looking for anything there.
A perfect segue into my rooster story:
When I was a teenager, I spent about half of a summer working with my dad at a location that was distant enough that we spent the week there and came home on weekends. During the week, I slept on a cot in a field next to the log house that we were building. Weekends were my chance to sleep in a real bed. Saturday morning was my only opportunity to sleep late and I had the typical teenager’s love of sleeping late.
We had Bantam chickens. They were half-wild and tough bastards. We did not clip their wings so that they could roost in the trees at night. They had to fend for themselves against the local predators - mostly feral cats.
On of those little feathered bastards made a point of parking under my bedroom window on several Saturday mornings and performing a crowing concert. One cock-a-doodle-doo after another. I made a mental note of his appearance. “I’ll remember you, you bastard”.
One Sunday morning, my mother asked me to kill a chicken for Sunday dinner. These critters were so tough you had to pressure cook them to make them edible. My dad had a Remington 870 12 gauge with a long, full-choke barrel. It was (and is) a tight-patterning, hard-hitting shotgun. My thoughts of revenge came together into a cohesive plan.
I bypassed my own shotgun, a 20 gauge, modified choke. I took the 870 off the rack. I went into the back yard and waited. And waited. And waited. My mother stuck her head out the back door and asked, “What are you waiting for?”
“Just wait,” I replied.
Then, a blissful convergence. I saw the one. I waited a little more until he tilted his head back, "Cock-a-doodle … " - “BLAM!”.
He tumbled across the yard, well …, like a headless chicken.
We had some good chicken and dumplings when we got home from church.
My granddad’s farm had a rooster. It pecked my hand once for no reason at all. Loud, arrogant cock-a-doodle cunt. Every time I think about seriously committing to vegetarianism I remember that rooster and think "Nah, fuck it. One more chicken burger, just for the road. "
Little fuckers should count themselves lucky they taste good.
Pitting endorsed 100%.
What a shnook.
You know, if the vegans would just classify chickens as a mobile and aggressive form of broccoli, we could probably work something out…
BREAKING NEWS!
The main line-stepper, the “under the window crowmeister” has gone missing!
My wife thinks my failure to bring the Killer Elite, aka the “Weiner Dog Triad” in the house has something to do with it.
Goddamn! Is this what its like to have “minions”?
Thirded.
Stew the arrogant fuck and them shit him out.