Mr. Alaska lived two doors over from us growing up. He had fighting roosters, the real ones. When my parents bought our house, limos and Lincoln Town Cars used to pull up in front of his house and people in suits got out and bought birds. They would leave with them in individual crates.
After a while (late 70's), that stopped, but he always had this really long "chicken house" of individual rooster pens. Of course, we weren't supposed to bother them, and of course, we used to go over and look in the pens - those birds were mean. They would fly at the wire and gouge at us with their feet, and then try to peck us. There were two layers of fencing to the pens so that they couldn't get at each other (or the neighborhood kids.) They sure were pretty though! I remember everyone who ever slept over at my house waking up at 6 am and saying "how do you sleep though all that noise??" I never heard them!
He died in the mid 1990's I think, but he always had his chickens... and a couple of nasty fighting roosters. They never pecked him though.
Inside me is a thin woman trying to get out. I usually shut the bitch up with a martini.