Downside

Summer is over and the rains have become a regular feature in our everyday lives. It is a joy to watch cockerels and baby pullets running around the lush green grass of my little backyard. Nature seems to sport new leaves, so to speak, with birds flying about in high spirits and the once-dry creek that runs adjacent to my yard gurgling once more after a heavy downpour. I especially enjoy watching the late hatches as they strive to survive the elements at this time of the year. Despite the unfavorable weather conditions and the fact that they are my would-be breeders, I decided still to hen-hatch, hen-brood them. You see, I want them to be tougher and stronger than the ordinary fowls. The rains and the damp weather have done their fair share of damage already: A number of these chicks have already perished. But the stronger ones are still battling it out and I keep crossing my fingers every day that they’ll make it to the breeding pens.

A favorite among my late hatches are the Cowans. Since this pair is the most recently acquired among my fowls, I am very keen on monitoring their condition. There’s not many of them left after nature’s culling process, so there’s one particular chick that I’m very fond of. Instinct tells me that he’s going to make a fine broodcock one day.  As I was admiring this little creature one morning, a hawk swooped out of nowhere and snatched this precious chick away. I could only helplessly look and gnash my teeth in anguish. My future broodcock, F1 of my imported pair, has literally flown away never to return. Who’s next? I contemplate as I look at the chicks left roaming the range. Will it be my Ray Alexander Lacy’s or my Radios? No one knows. I do not know when that hawk will come swooping down again. What I’m certain of is that it will come back once it grows hungry again.

I guess this is the bad side of the natural method. Predators are always on the lookout for careless hens with sumptuous chicks in tow. But I suppose this is part and parcel of my breeding method of hen- hatching and hen–brooding. I have to accept that in all breeding methods, there is always a downside. Nothing else can be done except to start over again.   

To Sell or Not To Sell

It's a rainy Saturday morning here once again and when I cannot do anything except watch my gamefowls from the porch, I am left with nothing productive except to play with the kids, check out the funny, weird and sometimes heart-breaking posts at Facebook and of course try to update this site which I haven't done for quite some time now. And as far as my blog is concerned, well, I must plead guilty for neglecting it.

But the rains seem to have done my writer's block a world of good. As a nurse, I couldn't think of a medical reason why no matter how hard I try, I couldn't put all my thoughts into a coherent piece on the screen, hence the long hiatus from making any blog entry. So as the rain pours on, I type furiously on the keyboard, somehow holding the irrational fear that if the rain stopped, so would the flow of words. God forbid!

I only maintain a small number of fowls a year. If I had my way, I would keep them all for myself and I think every breeder somehow feels the same way, whether they admit it or not. There is a certain feeling of power (and perhaps a little selfishness) that comes from being able to create a pit warrior from the breeding materials you own that it can be very hard to let a stag or cock or even a feather go.

But all breeders know that it's difficult to maintain this hobby. Cockfighting and breeding requires not only a substantial time investment but financial allocation as well. We spend money for feeds, vaccination, housing and medicines when our prized fowls get sick. This does not include the money we spend for getting the best materials. And I am sure that you will agree with me when I say that we do not want to spend for, much less care for and breed, second-rate breeding materials.

As I have said, I would have preferred to keep my fighters for myself. But doing so would only be too financially draining on the pocket. I do not want my hobby which gives me immense joy and satisfaction to be burden to my family who I love first of all. Thus, like most breeders, I sell.

I always feel genuine sadness when I let my fowls go. After all, I treat them like family. I know when they're hungry, when they are not feeling their best or when they are ready to whip other roosters in the pit. So it is always with unhappiness when I sell.

But you know what makes this feeling worse? It's when I see my fowls go “off” or cease to perform the game I know they are really made of when I see them being subjected to unnatural conditioning methods like what my friend did who financed a derby entry. The rigorous training he subjected my fowls to included dropping a substantial amount of my bird's bodyweight drastically and letting it do exercise routines that even Manny Pacquiao would object to.

Sometimes, I am even relieved when a buyer decides to back out at the last minute. Although it can be frustrating since I always believe in honoring commitments, there is a tinge of happiness when I get to keep my fowl in the end.

Still, the fact remains that I need to keep on breeding. And if I want to continue to engage in this hobby for life (which I intend), I have to let my fowls go. I can only hope and pray that those who got fowls from me will take care of them the way I do. This is every breeder's wish, I suppose, and what every self-respecting sabungero ought to do. For in the end, how we treat our fowls is a reflection of us and the dignity, honor and respect we give not only to our fellow cockers and breeders but to the age-old tradition that has defined our identity as a nation.

Of Asil-Hennies and Daydreams

 

I believe that in the long-knife, the most important ability that a rooster must possess is cutting ability. Take ‘cutting ability’ to mean the capability of a rooster to kill its opponent quickly (Hidalgo). In thePhilippines, there are instances when even roosters who are not dead game can still win a fight. This is because in slasher fighting, a single stroke can be enough to deliver a mortal blow.


Asils are known for their uncanny cutting ability. They are sometimes regarded as the ‘walking birds’—everytime they make a pass, they connect and they connect deep. A solitary hit is enough to maim or kill its opponent instantaneously. And this they do without any fancy shuffling or tattooing, as it is often called. With a nervous blood inherent in them, they are very cautious and wary when they fight. Thus, they don’t normally mix up with their opponent, rather, they gracefully sidestep and backpedal when circumstances warrant it.


Meanwhile, hennies are the subject of much debate in the cocking world today- the issue being whether they should be allowed to join derbies or not. Those who argue against their joining point to the henny’s deceptive looks that throws the regular rooster off his game. In most cases, the regular roosters would strut upon release when pitted against a henny—apparently thinking that the opponent is a hen. Hence, most of the time, the henny enjoys the first blow.


If my observations are on track, a fusion of the cutting ability of the asil and the deceptive looks of the henny would make for a superior pit warrior. As I look at my monstrous, callous-faced, dirt-looking asil-hennies, I have a recurring daydream which I’d like to share with you. Please indulge me on this: Imagine a handsome, imported sweater cock pitted against a henny. Upon release, this sweater rushes to the henny. However, upon seeing what looks like a hen instead of cock, it desists and instead struts in front of it with only one thing in mind—topping it. The henny, meanwhile, waits patiently for the sweater to be within striking distance. And when it did, it strikes its bone-crushing fatal blow that sends the sweater spiraling to its death, not even knowing what hit him. The asil-henny finishes its superb performance with relentless shuffling until the poor imported rooster succumbs and dies.


As I drift back to reality, I realize that this is really one of the reasons why I strive to develop and constantly improve my asil-hennies. Everyone of us wants to dominate this sport. I couldn’t care less if asil-hennies are ugly birds. After all, at the end of the day, what matters most is that they cut, and they win.

Of Cockfighting and Friends

PHOTO CREDIT: VISTAR

I have been a cocker since I was 3 years old. My love affair with chickens began when I was a chubby boy growing up in war-ravaged Mindanao. I distinctly remember the day I pocketed a chick who was basking in the sun while I accompanied my mother in the river as she did the laundry (yes, washing machines were unheard of back then). I never told my mother about it. An old suitcase became the "home" my precious little Butchoy. When Butchoy would chirp, I would put a blanket over it to muffle the noise. Of course, my parents eventually found out and thankfully, they allowed me to keep my bird. From then on, the chick and I became inseparable and I would bring it to the table during meal times. Unfortunately, that was not such a good idea as it was also where Butchoy met his end. One morning, while we were having breakfast, Butchoy excitedly ran and went straight to my father's scalding hot coffee. My poor chick died that day but my love for chickens has never waned from that day on.

In my journey as a cocker, I have met many people who also share the same passion. Young and old alike, my circle of friends who are also fascinated with these feathered warriors come from all walks of life. Some are very rich, others have enough to live decently while still others have to work hard to eke out a living. But when we meet, the stature in life or in society takes a backseat. During these times, the talk simply centers on chickens, bloodlines, and the performance in last Sunday's hackfight or the score in a recently-concluded derby. Hours seem like minutes when cocker friends gather and if we had it our way, we would spend the whole day holding the roosters, sparring them, and discussing their attributes.

Indeed, cockfighting is a social sport. We need to surround ourselves with friends who also share the same degree of interest in the sport. With them, you can actually voice out concerns you had about your birds that you can't even share with your wife. With fellow cockfighting aficionados, it's perfectly normal to compare the attributes of an Asil to that of the Sweater. You can talk about station preference, conditioning methods, and supplements used without worrying that you'll get an eyebrow raised in confusion. In this circle, the world revolves around chickens, roosters, hens, chicks, and cockfighting and everyone is happier because of it.

It would be a lonely endeavor to engage in cockfighting by yourself. If you close yourself off from the rest of the breeders and cockers in this world, there would be no chicken talk over beer and chips. There would be no one to brag to after winning a fight. There would be no chicken jokes to share. While going around your yard full of chickens can be relaxing and gratifying, having fellow cockers to talk to completes the whole experience. As a breeder and cocker, your fellow cockers are your better halfs. In your birds, you have crowing connection that binds you to each other for life.

Chicken talk, anyone?

Smell the Roses

It's been a long time since my last blog entry. Between work, breeding and family, it's getting to be a challenge finding time for my blog entries for this site. But I was finally able to squeeze it in today, and what I am about to write serves as a reminder for me too. 

For most breeders, the ideal is being able to hit the magic formula-- that perfect "nick" that enables our fowls to dominate derbies and hackfights. This does not necessarily mean that we aim to win in all our fights. It's the mindset of every breeder to create fighters that slug it out until the end, that give us pride and pleasure in dying an honorable death despite having lost the battle. And it is part of our psyche, too, to breed these warriors in the shortest possible time.


However, we all know for a fact that this is rarely the case. Unless you are uniquely gifted, we all know from experience that breeding takes time-- lots of it. It takes patience, too. And lots of grit and willpower to keep on working at it. It takes a lot of courage too. For as we continue to breed and fight our breeds, we are going to experience losses along the way. Even in the early stages of hatching, death is inevitable. Every breeder needs to have the heart of a lion if you even wish to arrive at a fraction of where you want your breeding program to be.


That is why this is a timely reminder for all of us breeders and cockfighting afficionados to take time out and smell the roses. Every stage in the breeding process has its own little joys and minute pleasures that need to be fully experienced. From hatching to ranging to cording to fighting, we all have to learn to relax and sit back and enjoy the view, so to speak.


Have you ever experienced helping a chick break through the shell-- that you had to literally dissect it so it has a chance at survival? I have, and the feeling is out-of-this world. Have you ever experienced restoring to health a very sick, near- death chicken? The moment it crows, you know that you have done one hell of a job. On the other end of spectrum, have you ever experienced your favorite cock-- the one that you take extra time to care for and feed, the one that you saved so long for just to be able to acquire it-- scorched to death by the hot sun because it got tangled in the teepee, and just for that 30-minute interval you were out buying feeds for them? You know how heartbreaking that can be.


The whole process of breeding has its pros and cons, its happy moments and its down times. You have to singularly experience each one of these if you ever wish to make your time in it worthwhile. It's just like being in love to the girl you have married. You know the song that says "I'd rather have bad times with you than good times with someone else"? This mirrors how it is with the breeder and his fowls. Through all the good and bad, the key to optimum enjoyment is to simply smell the roses.

Of Rains and Suspended Paralysis

The heavy rains that's been going on for almost a week here in Negros has really given new meaning to the word "summer". The once dry creek that runs adjacent to my backyard is gurgling once again, giving a considerable dose of shock to all things living--human and fowls included. The onset of rains at such an inappropriate time of the year has led to some rather peculiar happenings in my little backyard.

My 11-year old trusted gold hen decided that the the downpour was too heavy for her and sought shelter in our front porch, under the bamboo chair. One of my breeding pens got flooded that when I checked the following morning, I thought a duck had replaced my Albany hen who was already scheduled to hatch in five days. Well, the eggs won't be hatching anymore as they literally swam in the puddle. But my ever industrious Albany decided to sit on them anyway until I had to transfer her to a holding pen until she regains her sanity. My January-born also succumbed to the weather and battled with colds.

In a way, everything in my yard underwent a sort of paralysis. I'm sure you understand the feeling of being in a suspended state when the rains come. You can't really move as freely as you like. It seemed that way even for my chickens who aren't as energetic as before. Even their morning crowing is a bit contained.

But life still goes on. I still have to go out and feed them, even if I had to skip puddles as I went from one teepee to the next. The chicks who were strong enough survived and the others who didn't have it in them died and went to gamecock limbo. And in between moments of wanting to curl up in bed and admiring my tough warriors shivering under the cold of my backyard in the little Baguio of Negros Oriental, I found time to write this blog.

There's something to be gleaned in the changing of the seasons. Like the wins and losses of our chickens in the pit, our lives are closely intertwined with the weather. Rains, like losses, might dampen our spirits for a while but the sun will come around to give us the spirit and energy to move and win once again. It's best not to fight the cosmic cycle that marks our existence, but flow with it, savor it and live it. As a writer, nurse, husband, father, son, cocker, breeder and human being, it's how I make sense of it all.... and keep my blood pressure manageable, too. .

Is Cockfighting Cruel?

Photo Credit: Sabong TV

I have been a cockfighter all my life. I find enjoyment in breeding fowls and seeing them compete in the pits. I revel in my victories and learn from my losses. I find "chicken talk" with friends fun and enlightening. And because I am a Filipino, cockfighting or sabong, as we call it here, is part of my psyche. It runs in our veins and throbs in every fiber of our being. Cockfighting is intertwined with Filipino culture.

Which is why it baffles me no little when I hear of animal rights groups imposing their brand of morality-- if that is the right term for that-- on cockfighting in my native land. Cockfighting has been with us since time immemorial. In fact, when the Spaniards arrived in Las Islas Filipinas, they already saw the natives fighting roosters using improvised wooden spurs. So ingrained it is in our culture that it has become an institution. Cockers even fondly call going to the pits on Sundays their "Sunday School," attributing to it the same faith, devotion, and religiosity that they do to mass or worship service. It is not only a man's world, too. There are even women cockfighters here. Wives of cockfighters also respect their husbands' hobbies as well.

But assuming without admitting that anyone has the right to question or attack anybody else's culture, let's look at this supposed "cruelty" to roosters that these animal rights people are ranting and raving about. They say that putting on knives on these roosters and letting them gore each other to death in the cockpit is a form of cruelty. Is it really? When you observe chickens in the wild, they fight to the death to establish their supremacy over a territory. It is a natural instinct in them to fight. As the great statesman Abraham Lincoln, himself an avid supporter of cockfighting, so eloquently put it: "As long as the Almighty has permitted intelligent men, created in his likeness to fight in public and kill each other while the world looks on approvingly, it's not for me to deprive the chickens of the same privilege."


What those who are against cockfighting do not see is the care that cockfighters give to their flock even before they are chosen to fight in big and small derbies. They endeavor to select the best breeding materials to ensure that outstanding offspring are produced. The chicks are given the best feeds and care. Dedicated cockers wake up in the middle of the night when they hear just a tiny bit of chirping to check if the chicks have been attacked by predators or have fallen off their brooders. It's as if their ears are hardwired to hear these kinds of sounds and their protective instincts take over.

Then, the stags are ranged in wide areas where there are grasses, trees, grit, and other "goodies" that they can get from nature. But the care does not stop. Even with all these, the cockfighter ensures that there is ample water supply while supplementing what nature cannot give. When it is finally time to harvest them from the range, they are hardened in the pens and then later corded. All throughout this formative stage, the cockfighter never fails to give his fowls the nutrition they need. The smitten cocker who can't get enough of his beloved chickens even massages each of them to make their skins more supple and improve their circulation.  

Before I forget, these fowls are given shots and vitamins all throughout their growing years. When they get sick, they are promptly treated to ensure that they get well right away. 

So is cockfighting still cruel? If cockfighters did not breed these beautiful creatures, they would be going the way of dodo by now. It is because of their dedication that these fowls continue to exist and are seen in abundance in yards and farms today. 

Some groups say that cockfighting is barbaric but have they considered what table chickens have to go through before they are slaughtered? If they eat chicken meat now, they should consider where that came from. These poor birds are confined in very small and cramped stalls so that they cannot move. This way, they don't waste energy and the food is converted to meat. The roofs are so low that they are forced to slouch before they are finally killed for them to eat.

What about the furor over genetically-modified organisms? There have been claims that chickens have been modified so that they grow faster, bigger, and meatier. If this is true, isn't there something diabolically cruel about changing a fowl's structure just to be able to satisfy the gut?      

They turn a blind eye to the other forms of cruelty that humans also inflict among themselves. I'm not talking about war where there is a supposed "mission" to accomplish. I'm referring to boxing. Why aren't they making such a huge fuss about two grown up men and women bludgeoning themselves to death in the ring? It's the closest to the ancient gladiatorial shows of the Romans. What about wrestling? UFC? Why aren't the animal rights people campaigning against these? Because they are focused on "animals" alone? Didn't we learn from our Biology professors that we are "animals" ourselves? This would spark an entirely new debate which we can't cover here but you get what I mean. Or is there perhaps a more sinister reason? Like getting more funds from the companies who support their cause to make them believe that they are "busy." Otherwise, they won't be able to justify asking for more financial contributions in the first place. 

There are still so many examples of cruelty that groups like this turn a blind eye on. And this essay is getting long. Before I wind up, let me also state that cockfighting is a Filipino culture that has actually translated to economic benefits for many Filipino families. From those working in the factories making chicken feed to those who man the stores to the farm hands who assist the cockfighters in taking care of their flocks to the kristos, coymes, and other people in the cockpit to those employed in television shows featuring sabong, there is an entire industry built on this sport alone. Take away sabong and you take away jobs, you take away the food on the table and the money to be spent for education. In short, you take away life. 

Cockfighting is our cultural heritage. It has been with us since ages past and now that it is under attack, we should all stand firm as a country to protect an inherent right and preserve our culture and traditions that define us as a people.