Men and their Cocks

(This post is not of delicate nature but rather explores my personal experience, growing up in a household where men participate in cockfighting.)


I grew up in a household of men, with 3 brothers all grown up, male cousins and Dad. There was a time when it was only me and my mother who were the girls. Even our dogs were male and yes, my Dad’s prized roosters (or gamecocks, as known).

Every morning, I woke up to the sounds of the roosters, heralding the day. My brother would remove them from their cages and place them on-field to bathe in the sun and do their ground-scratching exercise. I used to tag along with my other brothers during feeding time. I was in-charge of lugging around the drinking water.
There were activities surrounding the growing of roosters that fascinated me (in a male-dominated household, it’s no wonder why I want to be in).

• My brothers used to remove the comb and wattles and feed them to the rooster itself. They explained that such flesh can increase the stamina of the bird.
  
• When a derby is coming up, the roosters were given fighting exercise during mornings and afternoons. Little gloves were placed on their spur (the sharp part of the back of the rooster’s feet) as to prevent injuring the other roosters. This will be replaced with a sharp blade during a real fight.
  
• Before the fighting exercise begins, my brothers would prime the roosters by holding their tail feathers and facing them to each other. It must be instinct or pure male vanity/pride but these fighters are ready to fly and scratch each other.

On the day of the derby, the men in the family woke up before dawn and off to the site of the fight. They would be gone the whole day. Mama and I were left to man the household but we were prohibited to sweep the floor as it swept the good luck away. At the end of the day, they would return bringing the winning fighters and dead roosters as part of the prize. Whoever wins in the cockfight gets to take home the dead rooster for food. By the way, rooster’s flesh is hard. It would be difficult to chew on it but its soup is good.

My Dad stopped joining derbies when our family grew. As my brothers got married, more female were added to the household. It was becoming difficult for Dad to join a derby so it won’t fall on anyone’s period. It’s bad luck, they say. Lucky for me, though, or I would end up as San Pedro at the cockfight arena.