Rodeo reckons he's real slick, so when Willa says that bit about whichever one he can catch he scoffs, sauntering out with his top dog swagger into the flock. He's got plenty experience working with animals of the equestrian variety, but the ranch he spent his sixteenth summer at didn't have any chickens and all his bravado does him bad in the end. The chickens are on to him before he even gets started. Rodeo hardly minds the challenge, and at first he tries for any he can grab, but when one chicken scratches up the sand as he grabs for it and kicks dust across his boots, it gets personal.
"Oh, tonight's the night motherfucker," Rodeo informs the bird, pointing his finger at her. "You best make peace with your maker, fucker, 'cause I'm comin' for you."
And he does.
Rodeo's determination is dauntless and his singularity of purpose unrivaled, but he sure as hell ain't takin' this whole process all that seriously. He goofily chases the chicken around the hangar like a hungry dog, laughing breathlessly as he fails again and again. He delights in any laughs he gets out of Willa as she watches him stomp indelicately after the chicken, and he laughs along with her every time, clearly not afraid to act a fool in front of the woman. When he finally scoops up the hen that wronged him, he wraps his arms around the squirming bird and clicks his tongue lightly. He mighta just spent a good fifteen minutes growling threats at the animal, but once he's got a hold of it his hands are gentle. No matter what fate is in store for the thing, he ain't got it in him to hurt the bird needlessly. If anything he tries to soothe it, running a hand over the chicken's back, petting it comfortingly. He heads back towards Willa and Sweet Melissa, glancing up from the bird in his arms when she asks her question. A grin cracks over his face, and he shrugs a shoulder.
"Maybe. I am kinda a natural," he jokes, with full understanding of how ridiculous he just looked. In truth he hardly has the time to help out with Willa's project, so he can't make any promises, but there's no doubt he'd like to help when he can. His hand runs soothingly over the chicken's feathers, and he nods down towards it. "How we gonna put this bad bird down, baby? Execution style? Firin' squad? Lethal injection?"