The Killer Rooster

Based on a true story:

I don’t know what caused it, I didn’t know where it came from, but in a few short days our little four acres in rural Idaho became the most dangerous place on Earth, honest.

            My name is James, and I am 8 years old. I live on what some people might call a farm, not really, but we have lots of animals. It started with just a few chickens, but grew from there. Now we have a bunch of chickens, a couple cows, the loudest donkeys in the world and goats that will eat anything, and I mean anything. They almost ate my brother, but I’m getting ahead of myself.

            With all these animals, someone had to take care of them. That job fell to me and my little brother Sam. Don’t ask me why we got stuck with all the chores, we’re just kids. Dad said something about learning to work hard or responsibility. I don’t know; it didn’t make sense to me. All I know is that we got stuck with the chores. At first when we got the chickens, they were all cuddly and cute. We liked them. Then they grew up. They grew into big, stinky, egg-laying machines. That wasn’t the worst part. One of the chicks grew into a rooster, a big bad rooster. He grew huge. He towered over my brother and me and had a razor-sharp beak. His talons were like long, curved swords. They were razor-sharp, and I swear they were made of steel. I don’t know what he ate or did, but he became the biggest, meanest rooster in the whole wide world.

            He must have grown gradually at first, because we didn’t notice how big he had gotten until he attacked. I was in the chicken coop watering the chickens when it happened. Before I knew it, the rooster was on me. He knocked me down and raked my back with his claws, leaving long, deep gashes. I rolled and ducked and climbed out the chicken coop, gasping for breath. I just barely shut the door in time to stop the rooster. He hurled himself against the door and crowed, frothing at the beak. I was so scared, I ran for my life. I collapsed at the back door. Sam found me and hauled me inside. He took some Band-Aids and slapped them on my back. I started recovering instantly. Everyone knows that Band-Aids fix everything.

            I told Sam what happened. He didn’t believe me until he got attacked. I was doing some other chores when I heard screaming and a bloodcurdling, “Cock a doodle do!” I arrived at the chicken coop, just in time to see Sam covered in slashes and cuts. I helped him to the house and nursed him back to help. We both decided that the chicken coop wasn’t safe anymore.

            We tried to tell dad about the killer rooster, but he didn’t believe us, so we were on our own. We still had to do our chores, even with the evil rooster of doom waiting for us. So we hatched a plan. We got our secret weapon, the Smasher: a baseball bat so powerful, we had outlawed it on all backyard baseball games. As we entered the chicken coop, we saw the beady read glint of the rooster’s evil eyes. He had been waiting for us. Sam went in to get the chicken feeder while I covered him with the bat. The rooster flapped its wings and came down on us. I swung the smasher with all my might. It crashed into the rooster and just bounced off. The rooster grabbed it with its talons and snapped it in two. Me ‘n’ Sam were out of there before you could say dead meat. Panting, we slammed the door behind us. We barely made it out with our lives.

            From there, the reign of terror really started. We still had to feed and water the chickens. We would wait until the rooster went out of the coop and into the chicken run. Then we would make a mad dash to the chicken feeder and back. Usually, we’d make it, but sometimes he’d claw a leg or arm as we got out. We always managed to barely close the door in time.

            One fateful day, when mom and dad were gone, things went wrong and all heck broke loose. When making our sprint back from the feeder, my brother Sam tripped. The killer rooster was on him in an instant, slashing his arms and face. I managed to pull Sam away from the rooster, but by then he had gotten through the door. We started running for our lives. Screaming and hollering, we sprinted for the house as fast as we could. The rooster was right behind us. We almost made it. I was climbing the deck stairs when I slipped and fell hard on the deck. The rooster closed in and raised an iron talon for the killing strike. I closed my eyes and waited for the end, when I heard an almighty boom, and the rooster disappeared in a cloud of feathers. I looked up to see old widow Mossberg standing over me, holding a smoking shotgun.