Of birth signs and rambunctious roosters:

Mister Cock-a- Doodle-Do to you!

Gaston De Rosayro

I have never considered myself a fancy cock-of-the-walk by any standards. But my Chinese zodiac birth sign insists that I am. That is because I came squealing into this world in the Year of the Rooster. In Chinese astrology the animal signs assigned by year represent what others perceive you as being or how you present yourself.

To tell the truth, I found it agreeable to be associated with the positive characteristics of the chanticleer that marked me out as a bird of the feather. Naturally, so would you if you were branded with such head-swelling correlated attributes as conveyed in the ancient astrological chart. Which states: “The Rooster can be forthright, brave, enthusiastic, loyal, tenacious, resilient, adventurous, astute, well-dressed, proficient, down-to-earth, gregarious, communicative, sensible, generous, charming, ebullient and terminally witty.”

But the negative features of my alter ego described in the subsequent chapter are far from complimentary. Because just as you are floating on air with the flattering tributes ringing in your head you find yourself on the depressive down-swing of the pendulum. Although decidedly unfavourable it appears to have a neutralizing effect on your psyche when assailed by such analysis as: “The Rooster can also be cranky, fussy, vain, self-involved, blindly egotistical, pretentious, high-handed, cynical, mercurial, self-absorbed and quixotic as hell.”

So the jaunty cockerels are virtually in the same breath adulated and admonished. Well, birds of a feather sometimes do flop together! When I was eight-years-old an uncle once placed an almost hatched egg under the Christmas tree.

It was to be my eggs-tra ordinary gift. It was placed in a cotton-wool padded shoe box with a light bulb for warmth. When I woke up and was enjoying opening up my presents I was delighted by the sight of a fuzzy little chick chirping at me from a cracked shell.

For me at the time it was a chicken and egg situation. I was at a loss to decipher which came first. It turned out to be quite a chic chick and began ranging the house and large garden. Everyone was quick to call him the eggs-plorer!

It was not difficult to hand-raise him. He turned out to be a bantam cockerel and I named him Bravo. The iridescent feathers of his green and red tail and wings against his black body shimmered with his cocky walk when he followed me around.

People often commented that the pet bird had an uncanny resemblance to its little owner, or was it the other way around? They claimed we demonstrated the same feisty and insufferable characteristics. But they never mentioned that he was as handsome and flamboyant as they come. They stressed on the likeness of the swagger, the full-throated crowing, the cockscombs and the confrontational attitude. And never mind the wicked, insinuating hints of the bird’s personal pleasurable proclivities they predicted I would inherit in the future. I was not amused. After all, it was inconsequential cockamamie chicken talk and humour most fowl!

Chickens may seem like an odd choice for a pet, but they can be very engaging, friendly and entertaining. Contrary to popular belief they can easily be tamed and trained with food rewards. In Bravo’s case he could not be fobbed off with plain chicken feed either.

I am not spinning a cock-and bull yarn when I assure you I had him eating out of my palm and he never pecked the hand that fed him. Chickens have distinct and interesting personalities. Bravo had a great soul in a little body.

Still, it takes a tough man to make a tender chicken. Bravo was the epitome of the ostentatious socially dominant strutting cockerel who strayed quite often. Everyone realised that the little rooster had soon established top social rank among the free-ranging poultry. Although the hand-raised bantam seemed to favour my companionship more than of his own feathered kin and followed me around on my jaunts, he had a tendency to disappear suddenly.

But he would always reappear looking a bit bedraggled with a triumphal twinkle in his eye. Such absences were constrained by his overwhelming passion for romancing the neighbouring free-ranging hens. Bravo was a plucky little fellow and displayed his fearlessness among the domesticated roosters, many of them three times his own weight. His cocky attitude had given him a reputation for arrogance, aggression and promiscuity. The cockfights usually took place when Bravo boldly entered their domain with one thing in mind. He was courting their jealously guarded hens and at least five aggressive males formed an impressive phalanx to guard them from his advances. But the tough country cocks were no match for my beautifully-plumed bantam even when they ganged up on him. He usually had his way with the hens of his choice after several brief skirmishes with the ruling roosters of the flocks. The biggest of those roosters was a coward. He was a big blustering bully. But the fact remained that he was chicken even for a chicken.

As a fighting-cock, Bravo beat them all into a cocked hat. Besides, everyone thought that the hens fancied the handsome ‘coquettish’ chanticleer far more than the bland coloured males of their own brood. So, Chinese astrology doesn’t seem all that cockeyed as far as the positive aspects of my rooster personality are concerned. As for the negative viewpoint I would say it’s a whole lot of poppycock! As for Bravo, we may have been the cocks-of-the walk but although we did have our differences he deferred to me in the pecking order.