Welcome back to the Bandit Ranch, tranquil home of the peaceful Bandit Rulers, where serenity reigns, goats rest in the shade chewing their cud, and chickens cluck contentedly as they peck and scratch for juicy bugs to eat.
Actually the serenity that reigns is more of an armed truce between various warring factions: the goats chase the chickens and the chickens chase each other.
…dun dun DUNNNN!!!!!!!…
*cheerful farmy music plays in the background as the camera pans across a lively barnyard*
Meet Gad. Yep, that’s right. A handsome Cochin-cross rooster, kindly bestowed on us by a neighbor. A chicken of prospective good fortune, formerly known as the Attacker Of Pet Poodles (which was why we inherited him), he who should be thankful that his probation was extended. I always wanted a Cochin, so we decided that, should he prove to be a good little bird, we would call him Gad. As in, “Leah said, ‘What good fortune! So she named him Gad.’ (Genesis 30:11)”.
The cheeky little 5-pound ball of fluff marched in like he owned the place. As the other chickens came running up to meet this new arrival, Gad struck a match on the seat of his pants, lit a cigarette, and loosened the guns in his holsters. Wanna piece of me, do ya! Okay, draw if you think you’re man enough!
Or more like… “SQUAAAAAAAAAWRK!!!!”
When the feathers stopped flying, we had 6 little terrified baby hens climbing our legs to escape the fray, 7 thoroughly cowed young cockerels hiding in various places across the property, and 1 member of the Chicken Mafia looking around smugly. Served ’em right. Young whippersnappers. Calmly he dusted off his lapels and strolled away, his feathered legs the chicken equivalent of bell bottoms, the theme from Shaft playing in the background.
The lowly humans held their peace for the moment, until Gad began to bite the hands (and feet) that fed him.
A 5-month old, 5-pound rooster with no spurs yet can’t really do any serious damage. But once they get aggressive, there’s usually not much hope for rehab, especially with a chain-smoking, smack-talking snot like Gad McBad. I mean, just the detox would cost the taxpayers millions.
Gone were the days of happy chickens pecking in the yard. Gone were the days of the Bandit King and Queen setting foot outside the house without full body armor. Gone also were the days of the Bandits’ friends and family coming over to visit. Gad ruled with an iron claw.
One day the Bandit Queen went out to carry water to some of her goats. It would be only a quick trip, so she slipped on her sandals. The coast was clear, or so she thought. Casually Gad strolled around the corner, puffing on a cigarette.
Oh ho, time for some fun! thought he, flipping away the cigarette, and swaggered up to the Bandit Queen.
Let it here and henceforth be known that the Bandit Queen is a merciful ruler, and will let animals get away with all sorts of shenanigans because she is a softy.
Back to the action.
Looking like the chicken version of Riff from West Side Story, Gad tap-danced up cockily and homed in on the Bandit Queen’s bare toes. Being somewhat attached to those members, she cast about for an escape.
Gad was hovering between her and the house, his beady eyes glowing in triumphant glee.
What EVER would she DO?
Without a second thought, she upturned the bucket of water.
And a very surprised rooster got the first cold bath of his chickeny life.
What the… Why you mangy good for nothing human! We’ll find out who wears the pants around here!
To wit, the battle was joined. You know what they say about mud wrestling a pig. Who is going to be enjoying it? Thaaaat’s right. The Bandit Queen. In a very few short minutes, after being pelted with dirt, goat marbles, sticks, and anything else handy, Gad’s attitude went from…
…to “OMG GET THE @#$& AWAY FROM THE CRAZY HUMAN!!!!!!”…
…and he fled ignominiously (don’t you love that word) under a hail of dust and epithets (another one I love) from the Snarling, Foaming Wild Creature Formerly Known As The Bandit Queen.
Unfortunately, whether because of bad breeding or being made mean, Gad just wouldn’t be cured of his aggression. So off he went to Camp Macaroni, where he is currently resting calmly.