The Roosters' New Home

"How'd you get all the bruises on your legs?" the husband asks.
.
"Grrr..." I say. "Those roosters."

This year's roosters rank No. 3 on the Most-Aggressive-Roosters-Ever List -- behind Andy the Barred Rock who terrorized me as a child (had to carry a rolled newspaper with me when I fed the chickens. He met his demise days after attacking my father.); and then there was Uckhead, a Golden Comet, who arrived with our first batch of chickens on the farm. His spurs were so sharp that they cut my jeans.

But the problem with this year's roosters is that there are two--and they double team us. Many days I've found myself facing two roosters and fending off one with my left foot and the other with my right. And they're agile, moving through the pipe gates from one paddock to the other.

We keep sticks at the gate entrances, but sometimes I don't grab one if the roosters are off in another paddock. I regret it moments later, when they come attacking.

And, so after months of being terrorized by roosters, I moved them to their new homes.

"It's only temporary," I tell them, circling July 1 on the calendar.