I previously dwelled at a residence where an abundant scenery of thickly forested nature created a peninsula from its boundaries; the front face was dissimilar from the others with its evidence of human exposure and traces, symbolized by a lone, sun faded, asphalt, country road. The front, between the single leveled ranch-styled house, and the property boundary which connected to the road, was grassy, and up close to the road laid a rusted, weather-worn, barbed wire fence enclosing off the property. The only gap that existed of this intended wired wall was within the area in which a graveled driveway pathed its way from the road to the concrete driveway. In the area within the sides and back property boundaries where untamed natural wilderness was touched, and the house, a pasture-like landscape of patchy vegetation and grass sleeved the ground along with the random dotting of ancient sky-touching oak trees.

More precisely, and of greater relevance, constructed in the back yard of the house, was a wooden building and fenced off area in which the only entrance was through the building. This area and building is where our chickens kept their forced residence. Such privileged, with living quarters, food, and water, a levy was placed upon these chicken; their eggs. Taxed daily, the unhatched spawn of the hens were to be seized and harvested for consumption. Often at times, a surplus would surmount, and the eggs would be sold on the basis solely on removing the accumulated stock pile.

The task of removing the eggs from the hens’ nested territory was put in the hands of, usually, my brothers and I. Occasionally, mom would carry out the duty or assist in the task laid before us. Nothing of complex nature existed in this task. Danger, on the other hand did, for a small child.

My mom, older brother, and I, trail our way to the chicken coop on an ordinarily sunny day, egg basket in mother’s hand. Upon reaching the hen house, I am instructed to remain outside while the egg harvest is to take place. I think it was because it would be cramped inside with three people, but why then was I to accompany them in the first place? Even today, the question is still pondered. Anyhow, the fact remained, I was alone outside, or was I?

Throughout the colony of chickens, a very dominant, alpha, and merciless rooster exists. His feathery colors are different from the others. Silky tan shimmers and glistens in the sun over the rest, while dark black feathers and a blood red wattle and comb stain this rooster. This doesn’t impede his dominance and intimidation though, it amplifies it. To us, he is called “The Ugly Rooster” for his difference in exterior pigmentation. The Ugly Rooster is also an escape artist.

Meandering around outside the premises of the entrance to the chicken coop, I step about in loose circles with long exaggerated strides, kicking dusty dirt forward as my feet lazily stroll about, my eyes in a trance upon the uplifted dirt flinging, killing time as the harvest carries on. Out of general lackadaisical observation, my head turns while wandering about, and there he stands, motionless, with a firm, upright, and dominant posture; his eyes are fixated on me, watching, waiting. Simultaneously within a split second, my body freezes, involuntarily immobile, paralyzed; and my brain revs up, flooring away from its once idle state, roaring with thoughts of fear and panic.

Within an instant, as if it were a thought and a command at the same time, the word “RUN” floods my mind. I scream, my head turns, opposite of the rooster, and my legs follow. They leap forward from a standstill to a full sprint; teary terror fills my eyes, blurring and blending all the colors together, blinding me in my haste. My legs however, firing off mechanically like pistons, refuse to stop. My head swivels around and suddenly everything becomes crystal clear. There he is, head lowered aerodynamically and wings extended, hot on pursuit, his target locked on. Tears steam down my face as I scream continuously while turning to face forward, and then my eyes see it, a tree root sticking out of the ground, but it’s already too late.

Unable to signal my legs in time, they and the root make contact. I fall, face first, catching myself with my hands, and swiftly turn over only to have my vision blocked with the sight of my pursuer racing towards me. I’m on his level now. Instinctively, my feet kick and my hands push frantically against the ground, propelling myself backwards in an effort to put further distance between us. It is to no avail though. The Ugly Rooster, in full momentum, lunges forward in a jump and mounts my chest, forcing my back flat onto the ground. In a swift, fluid-like, motion, upon landing, the rooster goes in for the assault, speedily and powerfully impelling his pointed beak in to my forehead rapidly. My wails do not faze him; my flailing arms and legs do not faze him. Only the swat of mother interrupts his attack and knocks him off me. Without thinking, or a split second to spare, and oblivious to any of my surroundings, I spring up and bolt to the house, tears flowing, screams echoing, nose running, and my forehead bleeding.