A Cock and Ball Story...

I wouldn't say that I'm the world's greatest expert at handling full-grown cockerels. The last time I had any close contact with such feathered creatures was probably about fifty years ago, when, as a schoolboy, I used to help out on Billy Ashley's farm, down the Carlingcot lane in Tunley, the village where I spent nine years of my childhood primarily in the 1950's and early 60's.

To be frank here, I haven't been on the same side of a fence as a cock for as long as I can remember. Thus I was a little unprepared for what was to befall me this Monday afternoon. If you were bored enough to have read the entire saga in the post "Water and a Wild Goose Chase" then you'll be familiar with the ballcock incident. I'm particularly pleased with myself for having ordered two new balls for the ballcock in our "Spitaki's" tank since, not a week after installing one of them, the water was overflowing again and - having replaced the new one I'd fitted with the spare - I shook the one which I'd just taken out and heard the tell-tale sound of water swishing about inside it. Hey ho.

So, this afternoon as I was going to be passing Despoina's DIY store, which has a large gravelled parking area out front, into which one turns to get off the main road when visiting the store, I decided to take the faulty ball back and ask her to order me yet another new one. When you turn off of the road and enter the parking area for Despoina's store, you are confronted with rolls of wire fencing, rolls of that green material which we all have the habit of using as a windbreak to protect our veggie patches and fruit trees, lengths of plastic tubing, several wheelbarrows, PVC fluid storage tanks and all kinds of other stuff which the local Greek needs in a rural area of an Island such as Rhodes. All this stuff forms a kind of channel leading you up the ramp and into the entrance.

What you don't always bargain for is a rogue hen and cock. The store is a free-standing building and, as you face it from the road, to its left is a recently installed wire fenced pen around a tree, into which have been installed a clutch of hens and a cockerel. I haven't actually asked Despoina, but I get the impression that she's not particularly impressed with this arrangement. Probably it's a favour for a friend of family member, since I get the feeling that Despoina would rather the feathered incumbents weren't there, truth be told. Why is this you ask?

Well, when I drew up just level with the store's fairly wide front entrance and leapt from the car, black plastic ball in hand, in readiness for me to shake it dramatically near Despoina's ear in order to show her why I needed another replacement, I was confronted with the sight of the amply sized lady in question brandishing a broom and shouting "EXO!! EXO!!" at a pretty large hen and a cockerel, both of which displayed a distinct reluctance to comply with her command to "get out" by leaving the premises.

Quick as a flash, the chivalry in me took control and I headed off around the back of one of the displays in the store, so that I could come at the cock from inside, thus forcing it to flee in the direction of the front entrance. 

Hold that scene just for a moment. Now, we ought to have have suspected that the hens and their male protector were adept at escaping their wiry abode because a couple of weeks ago I'd been buying some small DIY need or other in the self-same store, whilst my wife sat in the car listening to Radio Arhangelos, when, having returned to the car, turned down the stereo (follow me there, guys? Huh?) and begun to drive away, she told me that she'd just witnessed a canine kidnapping. 

"You'll never guess what I've just seen," she said. "A stray dog just wandered in from the road and disappeared round the side of the store. Not thirty seconds later he skulked back, passing within a couple of feet of the car, with a chicken firmly gripped between his jaws. He trotted off out of the compound and off along the road as bold as brass!" Apparently, no amount of clucking (well, can a chicken still cluck with its neck held vicelike in a dog's jaws?) and flapping of its wings could gain its release. She was a little distressed over this. My wife, that is, not the chicken. I mean that's pretty obvious because I'd say the chicken was much more seriously distressed. Mind you, all's well that probably ended well, at least for the bird if not the dog since, not ten minutes later we passed the same dog trotting back toward the store chickenless. There's no way it could have killed and eaten a live chicken in that amount of time so we surmised that she'd made good her escape (the chicken, of course) and the dog was going back to try his or her luck again.

So, armed with the knowledge of this recent experience, we ought not to have been surprised to pull up outside Despoina's store entance and see her jabbing at a couple of fowl with a broom handle.

Returning to my confrontation with the cock, which loomed alarmingly large when I came to within a couple of feet of the beast, I didn't give it a second thought but to threaten it with all the menace I could muster, including a loud "Exo!!" of my own and a few vigorous waves of my arms, fully expecting it to do a "roadrunner" and zip out of the store before you could say "foghorn leghorn". But it did just the opposite. It damn well took a step or two toward me with its comb all erect and made as if to lunge!! I had no idea that a cockerel would be so plucky, if you'll excuse the pun. Flippin' cheek. But the fact was, I was now in serious danger of losing my cred with this lady in distress, store owner Despoina, who was standing aside in full expectation of seeing me drive the offending bird right past her and out of the store. The bird's beak was noticeably level with my family allowance too, thus causing me to break into a cold sweat at what could possibly transpire imminently if I didn't handle the situation properly.

Well, don't ask me how I did it, but a couple more rather ginger gestures later and the cock evidently thought better of a showdown and strode defiantly out of the store at his own pace (just to make it known that he was exercising his own choice in the matter), while I followed at a safe distance trying to show Despoina that I was quite the expert in cock-driving. I think I got away with it.

Well, I wouldn't have liked Despoina to think I was chicken, now would I?