In the English countryside a tough old yardbird by the name of Rooster Cogburn made a name for himself by whuppin a fox that was planning on a takeout chicken dinner. Some people might doubt the veracity of such a story, but not me.
Back in the rural fifties it was not unusual for legends to develop around bad-ass barnyard roosters. There was one on our farm that I nicknamed 'Rocky Roosterano' after my boxing hero. Rocky wasn't afraid of anything, including my dad, who he gaffed early one morning when Dad was gathering eggs. In a rage, Dad went to the house and dropped a couple shorts into his .22 and went back outside to nail Rocky. Smarter than the next bird, he hid for a couple days till the old man cooled off.
Rocky entered the realm of legend one evening when he stayed out later than he should have and a great horned owl dropped out of a tree onto Rocky's back and flew him way out to a pasture. I ran out there and saw a terrible fight in progress. Before I could get close the fight was over and Rocky had not only won but made the owl fly him back to the barnyard!