MY DAD’S FORRAY INTO GAMECOCKS.
Hahahahah… Sorry, had to laugh at myself with that headline.
On our mental home property we also owned and raised horses, chickens, and rabbits. There was a brief moment (probably about 2 hours) were we also had a Mexican Pot-Bellied Pig… but then my mom went ape-shit and our fat friend had to be returned. My father was and always will be incredibly spontaneous and random. There is no question that this trait got passed down to me. I always say I’m spontaneous to a fault… well… so is my father.
One day, after an excursion to god knows where, my dad comes back to the home with two “fighting” roosters. When I first saw them I thought they were dead, but then they moved. They had to be kept in two separate small boxes with holes and something in between them to act as a wall at all times. If they saw each other they’d just go at it and you wouldn’t be able to stop them without serious injury to yourself. I use the words “saw each other” lightly because I’m not even sure if they could “see” each other since both of them were missing one eye each. One of the dudes other eye was so messed up I think he was blind. They were missing toes, legs were just “wrong”, they had half their feathers, deep scars all over their bodies, and their comb and waddles were completely gone. Think about this image… that makes for two very very VERY ugly birds.
Anygrossness, my dad considered himself their saviour and was going to “fix” them. Um, yeah. Have you read about these dudes? Here, Wikipedia that shit right here. You don’t fix these guys. My dad would sit out there with them. He’d let them hang out with him in the grass while he had a beer. By themselves they were cool, just normal roosters really. But never, never, never put them within range of each other. I think it was at the point where my dad was starting to realize he couldn’t make these guys mentally better without some serious shock treatment that he just gave up and started having a little fun.
We’re a twisted family.
He would tie them up by one leg to separate trees and give them each juuuuuuuuuuust enough cord to juuuuuuuuuuuuuust be out of reach of each other. Then we’d sit back and watch them just go fucking balls out nuts. Those little fuckers would go for hours!
(no gamecocks were hurt in our care)
