Bert had this big, red
rooster. He was as cocky as roosters can be and he had huge, dangerous-looking
spurs on his legs – pig skewers they were!
According to Bert the big red
bird was mad! He would attack for no reason, wings spread out, neck arched and
squawking! The only reason he put up with him was that he liked to hear a
rooster crow in the morning!
Bert asked me around one winters
day to help him with a with a big old Kanuka tree that had blown over. He wasn’t
keen on cutting up firewood into small blocks for the fire, he just took a long
length and gradually fed it into the fire. At the time he used a bow saw or an
axe, which is why he made as few cuts as possible.
The old Kanuka tree had been
dead for a few years, so it was dry, and Bert wanted me to cut it into
manageable lengths for him. The butt though was short and stout, so he wanted
me to help him manhandle the lump inside. He said he intended to lever it into
the fire using a crowbar!
When I pulled up, the big, red
rooster was out scratching among sheep tollies, looking for worms. His orange
eyes focused on my truck as he assessed what action to take when I got out.
My theory is that you never
show fear, so I hopped out, picked up my chainsaw, and walked around the back
of the truck.
The rooster was there to meet
me and he flew at my legs! My kick missed him as he ducked out of the way.
He spread his wings for
another charge, but Bert grabbed him roughly from behind and disabled him.
Without a word, Bert turned
and carried the big bird to the nearby creek where he held his head underwater
until the bubbles stopped! He was holding his breath and when Bert let him go,
bedraggled, he scurried off towards the hens!
‘That’ll teach the bastard!’
Bert mumbled, teeth still stubbornly gripping his pipe.
Bert and I worked in together
whenever one of us was away from our farm. Both of us had animals to feed and
water troughs that needed topped. He and Edna decided to take their daughter to
the West Coast, so I was deputised to do the odd jobs.
The pony needed a bucketful of
chaff, and a couple of carrots from the garden; the stallion, so skinny that
there was opaque light between his ribs when the sun was behind him – he needed
a bucket of chaff and a slice of lucerne hay; the cats (4), all good rabbiters,
needed a supplement of milk and biscuit-things;
the ram needed sheep-nuts - he would bunt if your back was turned; the hens and
rooster needed wheat and water – usually they were free range but while he was
away, Bert shut them inside; and there was Bess the bitch who hated being tied
up and would want a run more than chew a dog biscuit.
All went well – the ram got me
a couple of times; I watered and fed the chooks (and the big, red rooster)
without going into the henhouse; the cats were never away hunting rabbits; I
thought the stallion was dead on his feet, but he was just asleep (he rattled
when he walked); and it was always a mission to catch Bess.
All fairly standard for Bert’s
animals.
One Friday I was later than
usual because of work commitments. I first let Bess off who kept her distance,
out of my reach. The old ram hassled me, bunting at the bucket of nuts and
eyeing my butt.
In the henhouse, the water
dish had been tipped over and scratched over to the far side. I considered
letting the chooks and the big, red rooster go thirsty, but bravely stepped
into the house.
The big, red rooster (with his
spurs) growled like when a hawk flies over, and I told him to behave.
I think it was as I bent to
pick up the dish that he flew at me, but as I straightened, he became trapped
under my Swandri! A Swandri is a loose-fitting coat, a bit like a skirt.
He was trying to flap, I was
turkey-dancing trying to see where he was! He was squawking, I was yelling and
trying to get him out. I could feel the spurs digging in!
The flapping, turkey-dancing
and racket upset the hens and they flapped too kicking up dust until finally I
grabbed a leg and pulled him free – he was a hot potato and I dropped him as I
skipped out of there!
For once, Bert took out his
pipe to laugh!
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