Cheswick is an unknown fighting breed (Aseel?), who was about one year old when I acquired him, July 2nd 2012. A man drove up in a white van next to me and asked if I wanted a chicken. I told him that sure, I would take him, and walked to the back of the van where a lone rooster was squatting in the back. I picked him up and cuddled him close to my chest, asking about him - his age, where he had come from, but the only answer I was given was, "Take it, I don't want it!" Before any more questions could be asked, the van drove away.
Cheswick, as he would later be named, had every feather on his body broken, his belly shaved, and spurs filed down to clumsy points. These clues, along with when I introduced him to my birds and he was utterly terrified of them clued me in on the fact that he had survived in a fighting ring, and due to his timid temperament, was most likely used as a bait cock. He had no idea what the outside world was, he didn't know that food on the ground was the same as food in a dish, he didn't know what grass or dirt was, or how to dust or sunbathe, and learned from thirteen young chicks I had taken in just a few weeks prior.
I cried almost every day for the first several weeks that I had him, holding him in my lap and just petting his mutilated feathers, weeping for what he had gone through, but just two months later he was integrated with my flock of boys (at that time twenty-three roosters, allowed to free range together), and ever since then he's been able to be a normal chicken. Cheswick came to me a day after one of my favourite boys passed away, and when I was seriously considering shutting down my rescue. Obviously, I continue to rescue roosters as I am able, and I love my dear Cheswick and all my boys to bits.