Cockfight Club

Yesterday, my mom (visiting from Indiana) and I were treated to a showdown in our backyard. A host of wild turkeys had meandered down our back hill and were congregated around our apple tree just up from our garden, feasting on the fallen fruit on the ground. There were 15 to 20 birds in all, big and impressive, with at least 3 toms in amongst the bunch. Most were staying around the tree, but a few were beginning to wander down toward Stony Coop, Richard's main chicken coop. That's when Mumble Stump, our speckled sussex rooster, decided to march into the fray and set boundaries.

Richard and I have noticed how protective Mumble Stump is of the other hens. But yesterday as he walked into the field of battle, proud and decked out in his colorful plumage, I noticed how much smaller he was compared to all the turkeys, especially the toms. It was a David and Goliath confrontation in the making. He was not deterred. He marched right out to where they were and then began pecking away at the ground, no direct confrontation, just an "I'm here now, let's see what you're going to do" stance. Slowly one tom after another came to confront him and contend his dominance, spreading that impressive Thanksgiving array of tail feathers like a good hand of cards, but each time Mumble Stump would face them down and they'd sulk off, the tail feathers drooping behind them. It was truly impressive. I was so proud of him. He had good reason to wave his wings and crow his superiority. Then after facing down 3 males he began walking right into the whole bunch of them in an attempt, I take it, to move them all on. This is when I really feared for him. But there seemed to be no fear in his confident gait. He was erect, determined, brave, at ease. Around this time, I began wondering where the goose girls were through all this hubbub, whether they'd even taken notice, and just as soon as the thought came, as if they were mind readers, there were Ginger and Mary Ann, calmly making their way up the slope. And then, as if the torch had been passed, Mumble Stump stalked away from the field of battle and let the girls take over clean-up action. His work was done. I watched as Ginger made her way to the apple tree, neck out, beak open in her version of a hiss, Mary Ann protecting her rear. The turkeys decamped and harumphed their way up the hill toward Royce's and were soon gone.

I quickly went to get a victory munch for Mumble Stump, a nice plastic container of corn. Chickens came from all over the hill to join in the celebration. And another first, Mumble Stump ate out of my hand - just one peck, but that was progress. What a beautiful bird he is. And how brave he was. I wonder if that's simply instinct? He did it because that's what was called for, no thought. He just did it. What a great show!

And this morning I woke to the field of "battle" blanketed in our first snow. Ah Vermont.