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. .