When I was a child, my mother raised bantam chickens. Her prize rooster looked just like this fellow. Every sunrise was greeted with his enthusiastic crowing, and he strutted about amongst the lady bantams all day. He was a glorious fellow, but he was evil! He lay in wait every day for me to come home from school and, as soon as I was in sight, his feathers fluffed, his wings and head went down and he came after me helter-skelter like a runaway freight train. If I didn't reach the house fast enough he'd flog my ankles with his spurs. On one particular day I raced to the door, tripped on the downspout to the cistern and fell against the steps, knocking me quite breathless...and I passed out. The next thing I remembered, I was flat on my back in the grass with my mother bending over me with a damp cloth to my forehead, and he was nowhere in sight. I hated that gorgeous fellow. I was glad when mother went out of the bantam business! If you happen to meet one of his descendants, don't trust the handsome devil! (By the way, this is not my childhood home, but it is reminiscent of it).