The longer I study the cock, whether Black Spanish, White Leghorn,
Dorking, or the common barnyard fowl, the more intimately I am acquainted
with him, the less I am impressed with his character. He has more pride
of bearing, and less to be proud of, than any bird I know. He is
indolent, though he struts pompously over the grass as if the day were
all too short for his onerous duties. He calls the hens about him when I
throw corn from the basket, but many a time I have seen him swallow
hurriedly, and in private, some dainty titbit he has found unexpectedly.
He has no particular chivalry. He gives no special encouragement to his
hen when he becomes a prospective father, and renders little assistance
when the responsibilities become actualities. His only personal message
or contribution to the world is his raucous cock-a-doodle-doo, which,
being uttered most frequently at dawn, is the most ill-timed and
offensive of all musical notes. It is so unnecessary too, as if the day
didn't come soon enough without his warning; but I suppose he is anxious
to waken his hens and get them at their daily task, and so he disturbs
the entire community. In short, I dislike him; his swagger, his
autocratic strut, his greed, his irritating self-consciousness, his
endless parading of himself up and down in a procession of one.
Of course his character is largely the result of polygamy. His
weaknesses are only what might be expected; and as for the hens, I have
considerable respect for the patience, sobriety, and dignity with which
they endure an institution particularly offensive to all women.
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