On my left cheek there is a scar. It is roughly 1" long. It has been with me since I was very little. As the years have passed it has faded but it was a deep cut and I doubt it will ever fully go away, but I don't mid because it gives me a story to tell.

It was not a simple accident that left the mark. It was far stranger. I was but a toddler, at most 2 1/2 feet tall, and my family was living in the LA area. My father owned a small guitar factory and my mother taught at a private school. We lived more specifically in Topanga Canyon, a mountain community with only two roads going in and out. This is relevant only as back story and explanation for how I ended up at a chicken coup behind the house of family friends.

The couple who owned the chickens let them run free in a good sized pen during the day (nocturnal coyotes like poultry snacks) so, being an inquisitive 2 year old, I loved watching the hens and chasing them around a bit. unbeknown to my mother and I they also had a very dangerous rooster. Large rosters can be 2 feet tall. I was 6 inches taller, but evolution has graced us humans with a lack of natural weapons. There is a reason that rooster fighting was once a sport. Roosters can be vicious, and have the talons and a beak to back up their aggression (the ability to glide doesn't hurt either).

Now that the back story has been taken care of the fun can begin. Here is the scene: Me, 2 1/2 feet tall wearing a fire engine red flannel shirt. The roster was almost my height, so I can logically assume that I looked like another rooster to him. I was in his territory, looked like a rooster, and was going down. I was completely unsuspecting as my mother and I were completely uneducated about the danger of roosters.

Out of the blue the rooster ran from all the way across the pen and jumped a yard feet first into my face. One of it's claws latched on to the left side of my head cutting a deep gash into my cheek and another just in front of my ear. My mother quickly scooped me up and ran inside to treat the wound. The next day we went to the doctor who told us that it would scar but probably fade as I grew.

The rest of the story is revenge. The rooster had been causing trouble with the other birds for some time, so was already on thin ice. This incident was the final straw. The night after the attack was a full moon so the rooster was left alone, outside, in a clearing, on a hill, in coyote territory, at night. He was never seen or heard again.