Fight of the roosters...

...and the winner gets the chicken. I was cycling along the canal this morning, enjoying the fresh air of early January in London, when something caught my interest: Two bald coots were fighting in the water, putting up their feet on the chest of each other with the deadly purpose of drowning the rival - at least so it seemed. Who was winning? No idea, it changed constantly, a vigorous exchange of power and servility.

It was like watching a boxing fight on TV; suffering with the "looser" who takes one punch after the other and does not get the chance to hit back, bleeding out of new arising scratches; Jesus Christ, life can be brutal. At least nature spared the flow of vital fluid this time but still, it scared me (well in moderation), especially at one particular moment: One of the males grabbed the neck of the other with its beak, pushing down its head, not letting loose. A scream was bubbling up within me, it seemed time was running out of the one to be drowned. Help,Help. I wanted to interrupt this barbarous happening but thought "It's nature, get your human control out of it." Luckily, the other male caught the right moment and freed itself with all the power that was left.

"Spring has arrived", observed a woman that had stopped next to me. "She enjoys the spectacle", and pointed out a third chicken, circling around the battlefield. Aha, this is what it's all about: A hen. She was swimming calmly around, back and forth, commenting the fight here and there, may be a bit impatient in the end as she swam away, watching the surrounding go by to then come back and see if there was a result by now. It was time for the fight to end and for her to be taken home by the winner.

An interesting season is on it’s way.