Greta and the Cockerel

We had a new Greta adventure Wednesday morning. The people next door keep chickens and they have one rooster. Well, the rooster got out of the coop and flew into our back yard, whereupon Greta did her greyhound race memory thing and chased it. She pulled a lot of feathers out and stopped it cold, but dropped it immediately when my husband said, “Greta, drop it.”

We thought it was dead, and took Greta inside. I went back to pick up the corpse, and it was gone.  It was only stunned.

About two hours later, the stupid bird came back into our yard.  My husband spied it from the upstairs window, where he’d been looking out for it periodically for a while.  I guess a rooster is very macho and has to live dangerously? My husabnd called me to keep Greta inside. He rushed downstairs and went out and tried to catch it to put it back over the fence, but it wouldn’t cooperate.

Finally the kid who cleans the animal pens next door arrived; my husband spied him from the window.  I went next door and got him, and he caught Rooster  in one try and took it home.  I had a good look at him, and there wasn’t much damage, just  a little blood on its neck, and its tail was distinctly lacking in feathers, but it seemed OK.

I noticed it didn’t  crow all day, as it usually does, so I perversely hoped that Greta got its voice box or whatever roosters have that makes the crowing sound. Once in the morning is cute; all day and all night gets wearing. No such luck. He was back crowing as usual the next day.

Anyway, when the drama was over,  Greta lay on her cushion as though nothing out of the ordinary ever happened.

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