Louisiana Cops Looking For ‘Aggressive Chicken’ Terrorizing Bank Customers – IOTW Report

Louisiana Cops Looking For ‘Aggressive Chicken’ Terrorizing Bank Customers

Friday, 8 May 2020, 2:45 MJA Uncategorized 19

Police are looking to charge the chicken with assault, attempted robbery, and looking delicious.

19 Comments on Louisiana Cops Looking For ‘Aggressive Chicken’ Terrorizing Bank Customers

  2. In modern society you have to call the coppers because if you don’t, you go to jail.

    The I would handle it IF i was allowed to would be: Hockey Stick, charcoal, scotch.

    But too many cucks on the planet now.

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  5. Sometimes chickens are not, well you know, not chicken.
    More specifically roosters often aren’t chicken. They seem to be trying to change that stereotype. But they still fit into the right size frying pan if they insist on fighting above their weight class to frequently.

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  7. My rooster was the best property defender. You can’t be friend them like a dog with a treat. Mine chased my wife right into her car. Then got up on the windshield and was pecking on the glass. I used to leave him out when I went on vacation and then he owned the place for a short time. I had many battles over land rights with him. In the end the pressure cooker got him after a 22 round to the head.

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  8. …I am by no strech a farmer. I was raised in the ‘burbs, and this one time that I visited my aunt’s farm in West Virginia, a horse stomped on my foot in the same barn where a cow pissed accurately on my sister through the slats in its stall, so that’s about where I am with things of the barnyard to this day.

    That said, I raised a rooster in my garage, Well, to be accurate, my father’s garage.

    And without asking, either.

    …see, they had a LOT of weird things in the ’70s that they were producing out of plastic to make a buck, and one that was kind of popular at the time were “incubators” that were a clear plastic half-dome on a colored plastic half-dome with a grille on the bottom half, and a Christmas tree light fixture (the old style ones that would burn houses down) for a heat source. These were sold with a coupon for quail eggs that would be shipped in the mail, and I don’t know if anyone ELSE ever had sucess with these, but while I did get eggs, they never turned into quails, just rotten eggs.

    So there I was with this incubator and no more coupons for eggs, but I still wanted to be a bird father. What to do?

    Happily, there was a hatchery nearby, by which I mean about a half-hour bicycle ride away on a 4 lane 35 MPH highway. I was doughier then and also stupider, so I hopped on my bike and rode over there in the expectation of collecting some chicken eggs to figuratively sit on so I too could be a chicken raiser for…some reason.

    …well, I don’t know if the guy really wanted to waste time on a kid who just wanted to buy some very low quantites of eggs, but I was told there were no eggs for sale, BUT they would happily sell me a CHICKEN. I asked for a hen, and again no, but here’s a ROOSTER.

    I know jack about barnyard fowl, at this point I just want it as a pet, so I get it and immediately have to figure out how to get it home.

    On a bike.

    A half-hour away.

    …as I said, I was both dougier and stupider at the time, so I just grabbed bre’r rooster by his feet like I saw the professional chicken grasper do and went flying back to the house, dangling a chicken head-down the whole way. For some reason it didn’t die or kill ME, but the cops must have all been snoozing that day because that was CERTAINLY a sight to see, but if any saw, they didn’t comment on it.

    It may have made the rooster a bit crazy too, though, what with the blood to its tiny head and all, but I put it down and let it take over my dad’s car park, poop on everything, and start to crow.

    Which it did EVERY MORNING. For YEARS. It WAS a rooster, after all. Happily, my dad had good relations with his neighbors, who also had a good sense of humor, so the City was never called about the nusiance chicken being a bucolic alarm clock in the heart of Suburbia.

    …but as to the aggressiveness, yes, it WAS that. Maybe it was the trip, maybe it was the beer my sister’s boyfriends once gave it (a literally drunken chicken is quite a sight, they’re lightweights), but this thing would defend the front yard and garage like it was a pit bull. If we didn’t have him locked down in the garage, no visitor made it to the front door with his ankles unscathed.

    He had NO fear, either. We had a big, black alley cat that had adopted us, and this thing was a chunk of rippling muscle and spooky litheness and awesome speed. It killed just about everything in a half-mile radius around the house, to judge by all the dead animals it gifted us with outside and inside the house, so there was NO mouse problem in MY neighborhood. It could kick the butt on every cat and most dogs in the neighborhood, too, and did.

    But he didn’t know what to make of the chicken. Not surprising, he had never seen one. So he kind of stalked it and walked slowly around it, really more inquisitive than truculent, trying to sniff this large, feathery thing out and determine its threat level. The chicken, for its part, stood stock-still, but tracked the cat with its head like a radar zeroing in on a target.

    Emboldened by the lack of response from his mark, the cat moved into the kill zone.

    Then the rooster, completely without warning or telegraphing in any way, drilled him with its beak square between his eyes. A PERFECT strike, right at the bridge of the nose, couldn’t have done it better with a laser sight.

    The surprised cat yowled and backflipped away from the big bird, and ran off like it’s tail was on fire. He never went within a yard of that animial again, he’d had ENOUGH of that forever.

    …The chicken lived a long life with me, the only damage he ever took being a toe that fell off from frostbite from his garage living one VERY cold winter when even the Ohio River froze, but even THAT didn’t bother him. Finally, one day, when I was older and didn’t have enough attention to keep the chicken from attacking the mailman and UPS driver any more, and also probably because he’d had enough of cleaning chicken poop off the station wagon, my father had us take him to somebody’s farm, to live out his life surrounded by hens in peace and comfort, and NEVER be made into nuggets.

    And I’m SURE he wasn’t chicken sandwiched. SHUT UP! (sticks fingers in ears) LALALALALALALA….

    (if he WAS, THAT would be one TOUGH sandwich. Because of all this, I have NO problem believing in an aggressive, territorial drumstick display, it’s a pretty small brain so there’s no room for fear, not sure where “chicken” became a perojative for a fearful person because I certainly never saw it…)

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  12. If that is a picture of the “culprit” I doubt all the claims. That’s a buff orpington variety, which are very passive. There are other varieties that fit the “aggressive” description much better.

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  17. I’m surprised a call from Dispatch didn’t SPUR the cops into action.

    The former owner told the chicken’s buyer, “don’t pay anything now. I’ll send you the BILL later.”

    That chicken loved his coop so much they had to pry him outta there with a CROW bar.

    I’m out….

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