Reminds me of an incident at Aunt Shirley's, one summer visit when I was about 9 years old. The ducks they had would lay their eggs anywhere in the pen, unlike the chickens that would nicely lay them in the henhouse. The duck eggs could be anywhere from in the haystack to just on the ground, so we (cousin Sue and I) had to climb over the haystack to get into the pen to look for them. Well, one day, the rooster, who had always been a bit cranky, decided he didn't want intruders, and flew at me as I climbed down. I got two deep puncture wounds in my leg from his claws, and went back inside to get bandaged up.

"Next time he does that, it's rooster and dumplings," said Shirley. "I'll probably hafta boil him all day, 'cause he's such a scrawny thing ..."

Well, we got a letter a couple weeks later. The next person the rooster picked to attack was none other than Shirley herself.

Lifespan of a rooster? Less than 2 hours after you attack the mistress of your fate!

Rooster stew, I believe it was, he sat in the slow cooker, as predicted, for a whole day before he was edible, but nothing ever went to waste at Aunt Shirley's!