An unlikely name the snob replied of one decended of Earls and Kings. To argue this I cannot deny I wish he were called some other thing.

Of Celtic heart from the motherland a proud Gamecock with blood so strong. To call his cock the Garbageman is just not right and completely wrong.

When just a stag on a racehorse farm corn, oats, and bran weren't all he'd eat. Daily he'd search around the barns for nails and wire and even meat.

His fare though strange agreed with him for as he grew from stag to cock his plumage brightened, his muscle trim. Nothing feathered dare cross his walk.

One early morning late last fall the sun should be rising soon when through the door and in the stall there appeared a young raccoon.

The Garbageman high on the rafter crowed his challenge as his harem watched. Instinct told them what the coon was after. This bold intruder must be stopped.

The impact of the feathered warrior knocked the startled coon off his feet. He tried to stand and regain his posture but from one eye he couldn't see.

The bold raccoon tried to rally not knowing his death was near. When on the next gamecocks volly a spur sank deeply in his ear.

When stableboy came to the barn with the yearlings morning grain the events that led to this grizzly sight were not hard to ascertain.

The gamecock standing o're the body of his foe lying dead. Cut his wing, then crowed boldly and commenced eating off his head.

The story of this Kearney cock is not fable or a yarn. Sometime while just out driving come visit him at Dunroamin Farm.