October 1980

  Maybe I'm Southern, maybe I'm a little white-trashy, or maybe I'm just a straight-up redneck. Whatever the case, I think cockfightin' is cool as hell. Been to a few up at my brother Jaybird's place in West-by-god-smile-when-ya-say-it-Virginia. This shit is serious business, if not a Federal offense. Not sure cause you damn sure don't say nothing about cops or the Law when you're at one of these places.
  Anyway, my bro's dad breeds these nasty fuckers on his farm. Got hundreds of 'em squawking away on his property. He's real serious about it. He picks out which bird he's going to fight that day and puts it in this wooden briefcase type box, along with some spurs and talons and stuff.
  Once you get to the place of the fight, everybodys just kinda hangin around drinkin beer and shootin the shit. I've caught some weird glances like "who the fuck is this dude" more than I could count. But since I was with who I was with, I was just accepted. Eventually people start migrating back towards the barn or whatever. Commence shit talkin. Everybody wants to fight their bird, but not everyone can. Don't get it twisted. This shit is about money. The big dogs bet big. The littler ones like myself bet small, usually on some kinda side bet.
  Once they figure who's fightin who they start prepping the birds by blowing up their asses and shit. Seriously. Get's 'em all riled up. Also strapping some "steel" to their spurs. Then you put them up close to eachother to taunt them. After that it's go time. They're released and immediately pounce up and into each other in a whirlwind of dust, feathers and blood. It's pretty amazing stuff to witness.
  I saw one bird do a "Death Dance" after it had been defeated. Basically, with it's last bit of energy, it flung itself into the air about eight feet high, flapping and squawking. By the time it hit the ground it was dead. Wild stuff.

Jaybird