By Benjamin GroffMedia© | benandsteve.com | ©2026 June 13, 2026
Chester Meets General Drumstick
The townspeople of Finchfield had survived the Great Egg Fight.
Barely.
The streets still smelled faintly of breakfast.
Eggshells covered the boardwalks.
The mayor had spent two days trying to remove dried yolk from his hat.
And Marshal Chester Finch had completed a forty-three-page report entitled:
“Municipal Egg-Related Disturbances and Associated Hazards.”
It was considered his finest work.
Unfortunately, trouble was once again approaching town.
And this time it arrived on a train.
The locomotive hissed to a stop.
The passengers stepped off.
The conductor stepped off.
Then everyone stepped back on.
Because the final crate being unloaded contained something terrifying.
Something dangerous.
Something mean.
Painted on the side were the words:
WARNING
PROPERTY OF THE FEATHERED BROTHERHOOD
DO NOT ANNOY
The crate suddenly shook.
A loud THUMP echoed from inside.
Then another.
The workers immediately abandoned the crate.
One resigned.
Another changed professions.
A third moved to New Mexico.
The crate burst open.
Out stepped the largest rooster anyone had ever seen.
He stood nearly waist-high.
His feathers were black as midnight.
His eyes burned with mischief.
And attached to his legs were polished fighting spurs that gleamed in the Arizona sun.
The crowd gasped.
The rooster slowly surveyed the town.
Then crowed.
Windows rattled.
Dogs hid.
Several chickens fainted.
The rooster’s name was known throughout the territory.
General Drumstick.
The undisputed champion of outlaw rooster fighting.
The terror of chicken coops.
The undefeated ruler of barnyards from Texas to California.
Legend claimed he once stared down a coyote.
The coyote apologized.
The Feathered Brotherhood smiled.
At last they possessed a weapon powerful enough to challenge Marshal Finch.
That afternoon General Drumstick marched through town.
Regular chickens followed behind him.
They admired him.
They feared him.
Some took notes.
The rooster strutted directly into the town square and kicked over a barrel.
Then another.
Then a third just because he enjoyed it.
Marshal Finch arrived moments later aboard his faithful moped.
The safety beacon spun.
The siren chirped.
The engine coughed twice and stalled.
Finch looked at the rooster.
The rooster looked at Finch.
The entire town held its breath.
A tumbleweed rolled past.
The rooster lowered his head.
Finch opened his regulation handbook.
The rooster scraped one fighting spur across the dirt.
Finch turned a page.
The rooster took a step forward.
Finch adjusted his glasses.
The rooster took another step.
Finally Finch found what he was looking for.
He cleared his throat.
“According to Municipal Poultry Ordinance 7-B…”
The rooster charged.
The Marshal leaped onto his moped.
The moped sputtered to life.
And for the next fifteen minutes the citizens of Finchfield witnessed the fastest pursuit in town history.
A giant fighting rooster chasing a lawman around the town square.
Past the barber shop.
Past the feed store.
Through the mayor’s rose garden.
Around the water tower.
Twice.
The chase ended only when General Drumstick became distracted by his own reflection in a store window.
The rooster attacked the glass.
The glass won.
Marshal Finch escaped.
For now.
But as the sun set over Finchfield, everyone understood a terrible truth.
The chickens had found a leader.
A dangerous one.
And somewhere inside Peterson’s Feed & Grain, the Feathered Brotherhood was planning its next move.
A move that could finally put the town under chicken control forever.
To Be Continued… cluck, cluck, cluck.
Stories concerning our Moped Riding Hero always appear at High Noon Arizona Time. Where the sun is high, the desert is hot, and time never changes! 🐔🛵🌵