Cock ... er, chicken talk
By LYDIA TEHTHERE IS a good reason why the Year of the Rooster isn’t known as the Year of the Cock. Though rooster and cock are synonyms, the X-rated definition of cock renders it unsuitable as a moniker for the lunar year. The rooster has indeed saved us the blushes.
For a touch of sophistication, one might consider the Year of the Chanticleer. A chanticleer is also a rooster. It originates from Old French chantecler which is the name of the rooster in the tale of Reynard the Fox: chanter, “to sing” + cler, “clear”. But then again, it doesn’t make a good name because it may be mispronounced as chandelier.
Why not Year of the Cockerel, you ask? Well, a cockerel is a young rooster and if the legend of how the lunar years were named is to be believed, the rooster was the one who ran the race, not the cockerel.
(According to the legend, many centuries ago there was no way to measure time. The Emperor of Heaven decided to hold a contest on his birthday, having the first 12 animals which could cross a swiftly flowing river to the opposite shore winning places in the new Zodiac.
So it was that the Rat came first, followed by the Ox, the Tiger, Rabbit, Dragon, Snake, Horse, Sheep, Monkey, Rooster, Dog and Pig.)
The same reasoning can be used for not naming the year after the hen or the chick. It was the rooster, not the hen or the chick, which won the race. Besides, these words do not lend themselves well as names.
Though a hen is a female of the domestic fowl, it also refers to a female bird or the female of various aquatic animals. Thus someone unfamiliar with the Chinese zodiac may well ask, “What hen? The hen sparrow or the hen lobster?” Moreover, hen, which is also a slang for woman, will cause MCPs to flap their wings at Year of the Hen.
Incidentally, do you know that not all young chickens are chicks? Though newly-hatched chickens are commonly called chicks, technically, only the females are chicks.
Enough talk about gender. Let me ask you something. Have you ever been woken up by a rooster at an ungodly hour? Then you must have wondered if it is the rooster’s inherent duty to rouse sleepy heads from their slumber whether it is at 5am or 6pm. This entry at www.science.edu.sg will greatly enlighten you:
“The majority of birds take part in what is known as the dawn chorus. The singing is probably largely territorial. More birds will be singing around sunrise than at any other time of the day. The crowing of a rooster at dawn is more noticeable because the average domestic rooster is considerably louder than other birds. In fact, roosters crow throughout the day, although crowing tends to be more vigorous at dawn and decreases from late afternoon. Apparently, both the light and the sound of wild birds’ dawn chorus can stimulate crowing, which is a territorial response as well as a means of showing off to females in the chicken run. The crowing seems programmed into the rooster’s biological clock.”
In other words, the rooster is saying to his rivals, “Stay off this turf. This is my territory.” And to the hens: “Check me out, babes. Kooo-krrooo-kooo-koo!”
That’s what a rooster sounds like, not “Cock-a-doodle doo!” This unlikely expression has spawned lame jokes like “What is a reluctant rooster called? Cock-a-doodle-don’t.” Whoever coined it has fed us a cock-and-bull story that ought not to be believed. In fact, I’ll give you one roast chicken if you can find a rooster that crows, “Cock-a-doodle doo!”
“One roast chicken? That’s chicken-feed,” you say.
How dare you say my bet is not worth much. One roast chicken represents a princely sum for a writer who earns chicken-feed.
“In that case, why don’t you wager your chicken-feed wages?” you ask.
Forget about the bet! You’ve got my feathers ruffled. I’m so annoyed I’m going to challenge you to play chicken. We’ll drive our cars towards each other and see who swerves first.
“The chicken-hearted one won’t be me. You’ll be the coward who pulls away first. After all, you’re no spring chicken,” you say.
How do you know I’m not young? Have you been peeking into my IC? Fine! I’m no spring chicken but don’t count your chickens before they are hatched. You’re not going to win for sure. Perhaps both of us won’t give way and we’ll end up in the hospital.
“Choi! Tai ka lai see! Don’t let that happen! It’s the new year and you’re talking about landing in the hospital. Let’s call a truce,” you say.
All right. Don’t say I chickened out of the deal. Let’s shake on it. I hope you have a wonderful Rooster Year and may you have plenty to crow about.
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