Morituri te salutamus: An afternoon at a Filipino cockfight
In the ring, the latest contest is just ending. One rooster is down, blood following the contours of its feathers like water along tile grout. Quick breaths rising and falling in the dust-rumpled curves of its back. The other rooster, enraged if not uninjured, continues to assail its fallen opponent with beak and razor claw. The officiator separates the two, but when the downed bird still can’t stand on its own, both are carried out of the glow of the harsh fluorescent lights.
I ask Jingle what happens to the cocks after their fight. “Dinner Colins!” he says, patting his exposed stomach and smiling. Even the winning cock, usually too injured to survive long, is butchered.