I used to be married to a cock-fighter. I know there are both poor and rich people that enjoy the sport.

I felt bad for the poor little roosters. I always got attached to them. And I did not like it if one died. But they did kill each other if they were in the same pen together. It was their nature. The hens sometimes hurt each other, too.

I got one for a pet once because he ran from the other roosters at a fight.
His name was Twinkletoes. I named him that because he would dance down his perch when he saw me and would move to the side to get me to hold him. While I was away at work one day my ex sold him to somebody. No doubt for them to eat. Twinkletoes did not die from a rooster fight but from a human.