ROOSTER RAGE - Segment 3  (Scroll down for earlier segments)  

   With Rudy patrolling the grounds, there was no need for a guard dog.  Anyone venturing onto the ranch unexpectedly was Rooster bait.  It happened to my friend, Alan.  One morning he thought he would come by and ask if I could play ball.  I happened to see him coming through the yard, whistling merrily as he made his way to the front door.  I panicked.  Without notice, I had no time to distract Rudy.  It was too late.  There was sudden silence, followed by several shrieks that reverberated through the morning quiet.  Looking out the window, I saw Alan roar by, followed closely by the “Evil” rooster.  It appeared Alan might set a new land speed record for the barnyard, previously held by me.  After zigzagging around numerous farm implements, and making several nice loops around the house, Alan spotted me holding the back door open.  He roared in, huffing and puffing.  I slammed the door shut. 

     “That was close,” said Alan, badly shaken, but heaving a sigh of relief. 

     “At least he didn’t get your lunch money,” I answered.           

     Apparently, there were problems in the hen house, because Rudy always had a bad attitude.  He loved taking out his frustrations on someone smaller…me.  I called it "Rooster Rage."

     Rumor had it that Rudy was upset because chickens were disappearing.  None of them wanted to be the next to have their picture on an egg carton, with the caption “Have you seen this missing chicken?"  If you know the whereabouts of this chicken, please contact your local poultry authority.”  I was certain I had seen several on the dinner table, but with tension already running high I was afraid to say anything for fear of retaliation.  I didn’t want to be found bound and gagged in the hen house, with a ransom on my head.  And I knew Rudy wouldn’t be willing to exchange me for chicken on a platter.  The prospect of having my youthful life come to an abrupt end in the hen house kept me quiet.