“This time next year, we’ll be millionaires!” said Makisig while stroking his prized rooster. He is sure that his rooster will win the fight in the afternoon.
“Don’t count the eggs until they’re hatched, Makisig,” rebuked Bituin. “You were always saying we’d be rich every time you go cockfighting, and we end up with a dead cock. We’re better off if we just cook the chicken and make adobo out of it.”
“Don’t say that in front of Matador, my prized rooster, he’d be hurt!”
“As you wish, Makisig. Anyway, I’m off to the market to sell my wares. See you later,” as she stepped out of the house.
It was very noisy in the hut where the cockfighting was happening. Each one was shouting their bets, cheering the winners, booing the losers. Makisig put a sharp metal spurs on Matador’s feet. “OK, Matador, you know what to do, go get them!” Makisig whispered to his rooster.
When Bituin returned that afternoon, she knew it wasn’t good news. Makisig drinking tuba, feeling sorry for himself, said: “We lost Matador.”