Nid (Nid Alcantara Anima), published writer of many books, shared the literary piece at the bottom to cockfighters from all over the world.
Please be warned:
- Nid Alcantara Anima – All Copyrights Reserved.
– Gameness til the End
IF GAMECOCKS COULD only speak
(By Nid Alcantara Anima – All Copyrights Reserved)
IF GAMECOCKS COULD only speak … It’s just too bad they couldn’t. But if they could, if they are gifted with (human) speech, what will they say? Well, many things – a mouthful.
To the organization that has given them a hard time, that has allegedly hypocritically fought for their cause, the Animal Humane Society, they’ll not issue the curse: Burn in Hell!
No! They could be bursting in anger at the suppression of their right to the exercise of their inherent instincts, their pugnacious nature, but they are not that embittered, vulgar or profane, rather they are most decent creatures, maybe more so than their (human) nemesis. They are merely expected to say – Fellows, you are grossly misinformed. Would that you are not and our life would then be a bed of roses.
In a mild, mellow and suave manner yet. And in the same vein, it would continue:
“You have thrown at the person in whose care we are, the Filipinos call him sabungero, spoon, fork, pot, pan. Even bucket, almost everything really short of the thermonuclear bomb and if it is within your power to do just such … I know you wouldn’t hesitate one moment to do so. You stare at him as though he is obscenity incarnate.
“To all this and more, I shake my head and say: You are most unfair. Mr. Sabungero deserves a better treatment. We have to judge him, if ever we must have to do just such, quite objectively.
“Let you and me examine him closely and dispassionately. Indeed, we shouldn’t view him with eyes tainted with prejudice and scorn.
“First of all, I should say that under his care we feathered fiends get the best of both worlds. We never have bad it so good.
“Left alone to fend for ourselves, what quality of life do we lead? Don’t deny such is beyond your knowledge. We live on whatever we can peck on the ground and it’s not always there’s something on the ground for us to peck on. Such makes us lead an undernourished existence.
“But with a master like him, we are not only amply provided: we have all kinds of grains, too – corn, wheat, barely, sorghum, soya beans, alfalfa, trigo you just name it, he’ll procure it without us asking for it. In addition, we are supplied with vitamin-enriched pellets. And we are also amply-supplied with the necessary vitamins. Our sabungero master spares us nothing to keep us in top health, he really sees to that. It makes him sad to see us ill, ailing.
“Also, on his payroll has to be a veterinarian, who is at our beck and call. He drops by twice a month to check on our well-being. He vaccinates as well as immunizes us. His contract is on retainer basis mostly, meaning he gets paid even if he has nothing to do at the farm, as is more often than not the case. On the other hand, his visitation could be more frequent than the twice-a-week schedule should necessity require it.
“At the farm, we are afforded all the space we need to grow a strong physique. We are quartered on nicely-built coops, its flooring fitted with rubber matting for us to avoid growing bumblefoot. With bumblefoot, our capacity to fight is greatly impaired.
“We are guarded round the clock. A security guard is hired for the purpose. If not, we will pass into the ownership of another master through stealth. Somebody is going to steal us. Such would be a tragedy to our original master. It will definitely make his blood pressure rise. Only the President of the Philippines or head of any other country enjoy such kind of security arrangement, in comparison.
“Thievery of our own kind is quite rampant. It will be gross understatement to say it is not.
“How our master bonds with us! It is a sight to witness. Do you realize he would desire his favorite among us to be by his side during his sleeping hours, if possible? The only hindrance to its realization is the objection of the missus. But among the very poor who lives in a one room hovel, it happens. Cross my heart, it really does.
“To our master, our mere presence is thera-peutic. It constitutes his therapy. All his tiredness, worries and problems are dissipated on laying sight of us, or so they confide. He even asserts it accounts for his longevity, for the addition of years to his life.
“Our master goes straight from office to his home on his acquisition of us, something he does not use to do. When he was not yet into cockfighting, he would be in the company of friends and having a good time in what he knew then as such, wining and wo-manizing. His being always late for dinner is to the consternation of the missus, of course. This is openly known and secretly, the children. Yes, they are likewise affected, maybe more so than their mother.
“These days, our master, the sabungero, is not only at dinner but on time and the better half is happy. But such is an understatement, her happiness knows no bounds, in fact. In other words, he is a man reformed (in his ways) the moment he struck bond with us.
“He has also been observed to go straight to his chicken coops on reaching home and invariably ig-nores to greet his children whom he has passed by at the sala.
“All the aforecited has to be a contrast to how the same man treats his family and his very own self. “Father has to see us in bed to know (that) we are sick, but he always knows when his roosters are ailing,’ novelist Ester Vallado Daroy recalls.
“Look at the food on the sabungero’s table, sometimes just fried tuyo (dried fish). And look at what Mr. Sabungero himself dons – patched baggy pants, faded camisa de chino and worn out leather slippers. In such sense could it be said he is cruel to his family and even to his very own self.
“You accuse the sabungero of goading us to fight. Well, he does not; he has nothing to do with our fighting. There’s nothing he could do toward such end, if we don’t like to. Just to prove, try making the poultry fight and find out it they would respond. Definitely, they wouldn’t, it not being their nature to do so.
“Fighting is instinctive on our part. We are a pugnacious creature, born as such, and we have been this way since time immemorial … when ancient bomo sapien first spotted us in the Indian jungles some three millennia or so ago. The Chinese are not to be outdone in this regard: they also issue a claim to the effect a set-to transpired in their turf – near Beijing, that is – some three millennia or so ago, maybe earlier yet. We fight on spotting another of our sibling, cousin, grandfather, father, whatever. We really are given to fighting anyone, kin or no kin. Our duels are not attended by provocation or rancor. Pugnacity is second nature to us. It is what sets us apart from our poultry counterparts.
“Contrary to your view, we do not think cock-fighting is a cruel sport at all. The knives with which the chickens are armed makes the sport cruel, that you may say. But there’s something you don’t realize about the feathered duel, even if bareleg, without weapons. It is about doing harm to the adversary. Without weaponry, the combat is protracted and agonizing. You don’t quite know what you are talking about if you invoke otherwise.
“Not with the knives on. The blades hasten the duel and it lessens pain and agony since the death is quite clinical, neat.”