I was walking by the hen house one morning about the age of five with my grandparents. There was a rooster trying to mount a hen. Being a curious kid, I asked "Grandma,what are those chickens doing?" My Grandpa, a helpful man, chimed in "Yeah, what ARE those chickens doing?"
Grandma turned several shades of red, something she never did unless someone was about to get walloped. She gathered herself and said "They're fighting, honey." I replied, "OK." and headed to a small run to catch crawdads.
I could hear her yelling at my Grandpa as I walked off. By the sound of things, I don't think the old fella enjoyed fighting with Grandma half as much as that rooster enjoyed fighting with that hen?