Fighting or foreplay?

So this past weekend was a holiday in the La Paz province (just across the river from us). Though in reality this past "weekend" turned into town partying beginning last Friday and stretching until Weds of this week.

Point being, on Sunday we decided to cross the river and check out the local doings. We traveled with our neighbors, the owners of the Pachamama bar, with the intention of seeing the rodeo bull-riding event. Upon arriving at the arena we learned that the bull-riding was cancelled because they couldn't find any bulls. Which is ridiculous as they are roaming around everywhere. Welcome to Bolivia.

Anyhow, we were informed there was a cockfight going on in some guy's backyard. And since we had come seeking blood, we figured this could be a decent substitute. We found the house and about half the town gathered around a circular patch of dirt, ringed off with sticks and a tarp. People were seated stadium-style on planks propped on stumps of varying heights. Nailed to a tree was a sign reading "Se sirve pollo" [we serve chicken], which we could only assume meant the losers served up on a plate.

Despite getting some wierd looks for being the only gringos present, we bought some cheap beer from a lady's cooler and joined the crowd.

About an hour later they brought out two roosters from individual chicken-wire cages. They wear knife-like spurs taped to their heels to better stab their competitors. The one with green tape was shaking nervously and his feathers looked drenched in sweat. The betting began. Money was thrown around and collected.

Finally they put the two competitors in the ring. They strutted around a bit and started pecking at each other with their beaks. Both of them already looked pretty haggled, their heads plucked clean of feathers. The fighting continued, but really, to an outsider, it was something of a toss-up whether it was fighting or foreplay. They spent half the time locked in a full body frontal chicken embrace.

This went on for some time without either chicken seeming to waiver too much. At one point people began betting on the green chicken, who had pinned the one with white tape for a few moments.

Eventually we decided to leave. It seemed a very slow way to get dinner. [Did I mention that I've become vegetarian?]

Just as we were leaving there were racous cheers from the crowd. The green one had won. BUT, we were shocked to see both roosters emerge from the ring in their owners' arms.

It turns out that all the rooster has to do to win is knock the other rooster out flat OR make the other rooster scream. So, apparently that squawk that we heard meant victory for old green-heels.