A cock fight can be tragic without being vicious. One bullet kick, in a precisely coordinated execution, beak and feet, sent the randy cock into what ended the life of the terrorist of the neighbourhood.
The randy cock ruled the neighbourhood with raging libido. Every morning, the cock would crow to announce the approach of dawn. It was always the first out when the door to the coop was opened.
It would gobble the usual ration of roughly milled dry omena and maize. Then it would sip water before starting its forays of passion in the neighbourhood.
No matter how hard the caretaker tried to seal the exits below the ka-apple and barbed wire fence, the corky cock would always find its way out of the compound.
Sometimes it would return. Occasionally it stayed out overnight, unless the caretaker went out to bring it back. Not even the chicken mesh added to the ground side of the fence would stop the randy cock from raiding the neighbourhood to dispense its cockly duties.
It wasn't hunger that kept the cock on the loose for months. It was not even that the grass was greener on the other side of the fence. No, the cock was leaving a lushier ground behind. The cock's reality of free range and rage for service was out of the ordinary.
The cock combed the neighbourhood for mating mates. It never saw a hen of egg-laying age it did not want to peck. Its passion for service was missionary.
A decision was made to tame the cock: replace it, slaughter it, or introduce more hens into the coop, if it was company it craved.
The neighbourhood extension work stopped immediately five layers were introduced into the compound. It was always the hunger for company that sent the cock running amok.
The cock enjoyed free range and reign for as long as it was the only rooster of its appetite in the neighbourhood. There was also the careless, heartless side of the randy cock.
Once the coop was opened, the cock would rush out, crashing chicks and hens on its way. It would edge out other lesser shareholders from the feeding trough, biting newly-hatched chicks that threatened its appetite.
Replacement was urgent. The search for a chick and hen-friendly cock began to facilitate succession in the coop.
The randy cock went out of circulation dramatically. Not even the other chicken of the coop noticed the unannounced exit of the monstrous patriarch from the stage one chilly Saturday.
Replacement arrived; a slender giant of a chocolate cock, young and energetic. The new cock would have been a gentleman if it weren't a hen.
Minutes into the arrival at its new service station, the old cock noticed the well-built stranger. The rooster that had so far ruled the roost wasn't impressed.
Its ego was assaulted. It wasn't ready to cede dominance. It was like the wisdom of the sages, you cannot keep two cocks in one homestead, was intended to pamper the ego of the randy rooster.
Even as the old cock readied for a fight, the newcomer showed no sign of interest in confrontation – at least not so soon on arrival. The successor walked away, keeping a safe distance from the old rooster that saw the new arrival as an intruder into its territory.
A fight was imminent now that a handshake would not settle the conflict of passion. The newcomer wouldn't take the aggression any more from the ageing rival.
There wasn't going to be live and let live. Magnanimity was alien to the randy rooster. Cocks do fight and fit and bleed, but this wasn't the usual clash of roosters.
The new cock steadied itself, crowed twice as if to announce the change of guard. One beak bite, and a free kick, precisely executed, did it.
The randy cock fell on one side, shuffled and shook, like in surrender. It was rescued before a second kick. It stayed under the table – away from the chicken coop, crowing once in a while from the bunker.
The incident wasn't reported for medical attention. Veterinary science is yet to find a cure for cowardice among roosters.
