Evil Chicken!

"Buckie"

Before my 6 year old granddaughter, Ingrid understood that you can't outrun a chicken, she got the bad end of an encounter.
Buck hadn't been here very long, and was still highly sensitive to the slightest disturbance in the Wa.
That is, it took the tiniest perception of encroaching life forms other than himself or his ladies to set him off.  One day when Ingrid was coming to the house from the RV that her parents were working on refurbishing, Buck came after her and he was really putting his back into it.  In her attempts at escape, she tripped and fell into the garden.  He set upon her, and began pecking at her head.  He was prevented from doing any damage, Cayce picked him up and removed him from the area.
 Ingrid was way less traumatized than I thought she should have been or than any of the rest of us were, but she was after all born in the year of the chicken.
For a week afterwards, he was lurking just behind every door or bush when she went out, hoping for the opportunity to finish what he had started. Ingrid would periodically announce "Evil Chicken!!"
A couple of days ago, I heard that Buck's previous landlord actively disliked him, was possibly mean to him and so he went from being a normally aggressive rooster to taking a scunner against one particular man.  The problem with this, the problem that chickens and other animals don't seem to be able to grasp is that humans, when annoyed or inconvenienced, kill.
 In the early days, I could make my hand into a claw, crouch slightly and announce " No Chasing!"  He would back away and stomp off muttering "Grraahh buh worrah worrah...", but one day he decided to take me up on it and went after my hand.  That was when I instituted the policy of always having a branch nearby to place in between us, making it not worth his while to attack.

Today, there was something different.  I am probably premature or excessively optimistic but it seems that Buck hasn't so much as tried to destroy a shoe for over a week.  He still stands at a distance that feels like boundary violation of my personal space and with decisive briskness tears up whatever vegetation is nearby; not much, they've chewed up most of it - or picks up small twigs and tosses them into the air.  I have come to understand this as a polite request for cat food or other treats.
 It seems that even Buck can be made complacent about politics when he has a full belly and a warm place to sleep.  I expect next to come home and find that the remote is missing.  Anyhow, evil chicken or not, he is still so far, very much a live chicken.