No, this post is not about Dave.
But I bet he wishes it was.
I have lost track of the many, many roosters that God has bestowed on me for safe keeping. That last sentence seriously escaped my typing fingers without a blush. It was only after it was on the screen in front of me, that I realize how ridiculous it sounds.
NO CHICKEN HAS EVER BEEN SAFE WITH ME. (Just ask Lola)
So let’s try that again:
I have lost track of the many, many roosters that God has burdened me with.
There. Much better.
But there should be a celestial limit placed on the number of mean roosters one person is dealt. Because I have had my share.
None rival The Chieftain, though. He scares the poop out of me.
He has now taken to attacking us. It’s all very traumatic. I’m going to try to get some actions shots tomorrow. Time is of the essence. Something tells me he’s not long for this world…
So, I had to, of course, separate this guy from the chicks when I brought them home in April. They are still separated. I had actually opened the door between their two pens late last week. I can’t tell you when I’ve laughed so hard, watching this ridiculous rooster, coo and carry on for the hens in the adjoining pen. Nothing — NOTHING — he could do would convince them to come over to the dark side.
So I shut the door a couple hours later.
About 5pm that very night I heard an awful noise: The garbled crowing of a young rooster.
I confess that right up until I heard the sound with my own ears, I had continued to talk myself into the idea that this white chicken could possibly be a hen:
I know. It was dumb.
But get this: I swear it is true. I got these at a local store that sold individual “heavy layer pullets” (that’s rural-ese for “hens only”). I went late in the season (since I wasn’t expecting Lola to kill my last two chickens in early April). I planned to get 3 or 4, but there were only five left, so I took them all. My only concern was the leggy blond one. “Do you think that might be a rooster,” I asked? “No, no, no,” said the shop keeper. “These’re all pullets,” he exclaimed!
“I been ’round the block a few times pardner,” said I, “And I know them chicken hatcheries can make mistakes!”
“Worry not,” he reiterated, “This is a hen!” Hen, my ass…
It is little consolation that I was right. Oh, I do love being right. But not this time.
So that explains the Mexican standoff the other day with the door open. And now I’ve got to figure out what to do. The Chieftain is a serious problem, and not just because he is a mean, MFing rooster that has emblazoned my legs with scars, but because he FLIES. He files EVERYWHERE.
I took my life into my hands to bring you these up close and personal pictures. Yes, I could have put the telephoto lens on, but that would have required a trip back to the house.
I have given up going out at night to put him into the coop and locking him in safe for several reasons:
- Because I forget
- Because I don’t care
- Because he is scary
At night chickens go into a chicken-trance and become very docile. Not him. You can pick him up, no problem, but he totally freaks out once you have him. So he roosts on the top of the fence. He’s been doing it since Memorial Day and is still alive to crow about it. Who am I to mess with his success?
But, if I do tempt fate and put the two roosters together in the big pen where The Chief now resides solo, he will teach this new flock how to fly out. And they will fly out and into the mouth of the ravenous Lola GSP.
And, then the cycle will repeat itself again: Desperate for eggs, I will unwittingly buy young roosters on Craig’s List, masquerading as hens by unscrupulous sellers, get rid of them and buy young pullets in the spring, only to be killed by Lola in late summer.
Make me stop writing now. This is depressing. I miss Sarge. He was the best rooster ever:
Immortalized and stuffed and now standing guard in my kitchen.
Nat Alea from OK says
Oh my god, tell me you’re joking about Sarge!!!! Is it OK that I”m laughing and feeling horrible about it? We are getting ready to move up to Montana (yea- cooler weather!!!!) come next year and we are seriously thinking of getting some chicken to have fresh eggs, but then I see THE CHIEFTEN and I’m totally scared to death. I’m scared of birds in the first place and I would probably have to clean an article of clothing if he came flying at me. You’re a braver person than me. I would be threatening that bird with Lola all the time. Good luck ;o)
admin says
I am NOT joking about Sarge! I am looking at him RIGHT NOW! I talk to him sometimes too. I miss the old guy. Certainly not my most beautiful rooster, but far and away the best. I am totally TORN about what to do with the CHIEFTAIN. I can’t have two… what to do!
Jami says
Jen, you always make me laugh so hard!!!
I have to admit, I have a cold side to me. I told the kids when we got the chickens… sometimes, chickens die. Sometimes, chickens become food for other animals. We must not get too worried if they fall victim and pass away… we’ll just enjoy them while they’re here. It’s nature. Nature is brutal. Much like corporate America… but that’s another story.
Chieftain would be so dead in my house! BuhBYE.
I had these 2 Ancona’s and they were gorgeous. But one of them thought it was a rooster and would attack me and the kids all of the time. BuhBYE! No guilt at all!
That rooster needs to become soup. Simple as that. Find another rooster. Or, let your new one grow up and see if that one is nice.
Good luck!
PS Love your stuffed rooster! He really is gorgeous!
Michelle says
Poor Al. When we came to do your chores, I assigned him chicken duty. Check food and water in the inside coop and the outside pen. Add more if needed. He returns while I’m doing the easy job of watering the flowers and says, “That rooster in the outside pen tried to attack me!” (Ooops! Forgot to tell him to use “the shield” with the rooster.) Faking shock I say, “What did you do?” Always a MacGyver, he found a stick.
Jenmenke says
Michelle: I CAN’T BELIEVE you threw Al to the WOLF after all that time I spent showing you how to FEND HIM OFF! I hope he had JEANS ON!
Jenmenke says
Jami: we are a bit ruthless out here in the hinterlands too. I only still have THE CHIEFTAIN because Morgan has begged me not to get rid of him. I seriously thought he would fall prey to a carnivorous raccoon by now (why is it that the coons always get my favorites and leave the mean ones?). And it looks like I’m going to have to take matters into my own hands. I enjoy his meanness on a certain level. And I certainly enjoy is GOOD LOOKS. So maybe, just maybe…. I can find the cash for another mount?
Jami says
haha! so true. But good looks without good personality is pretty worthless… theoretically.
Carroll says
Why do you have a rooster? The hens will lay without one and you won’t have blood spots on the eggs from the rooster chasing the hens around the coop!
When I was a child, we had two MEAN big white roosters one year. They knocked my little sister down one day and gave her a big bruise on her forehead. They knocked her down again the next day and PECKED at the bruise! Needless to say my Dad visited the hen house that evening and made sure they would never do that again. Just lucky they didn’t peck at her eye. So – I am NOT fond of roosters.
Good luck with yours. 🙂
admin says
Carroll, Carroll, Carroll…
WHY do I HAVE a ROOSTER? Are you KIDDING ME? I’m sorry, but you simply must read the backstory! I am the woman cursed with roosters. I buy “pullets” from the hatchery and get ROOSTERS. I buy “laying hens” off craigslist and get ROOSTERS. I have hens hatch eggs and get ROOSTERS! It seems to be my lot in life. I did have about 1 year of relative peace and quiet with no ROOSTERS and it was heaven. But you see, we don’t live on a farm and the chickens started out as pets. As time has gone by and chickens have died horrible deaths at the hands and teeth of varmints and my own dogs, we have stopped naming them. Last fall we even killed two mean ROOSTERS ourselves and ate them. I believe we were traumatized forever. I’d rather pay $315 and have THE CHIEFTAIN stuffed than eat him. Call me crazy.
If it’s any consolation to the ROOSTERS reading this comment, I do think they have one saving grace: I do believe they protect the hens to some degree. At least the good ones do.
🙂
Thanks for reading! You may now resume rolling your eyes at me. I know I sound a bit crazy on the subject. This guy should be long gone. But for whatever reason, we are all slightly amused by him…
Jami says
Ha! Jen, you need an etsy shop for your stuffed roosters.
$500 will get you a glorious rooster that you won’t have to feed or run from in fear… (just thinking of your marketing line).
Lisa says
How funny. I have a RIR rooster who is named Sarge. He is my pet. He is actually in the house right now, not stuffed, but in here healing from a dog attack. The dog found a new home….. Good luck this spring with your new batch of roosters 🙂
admin says
In the HOUSE? I love my chickens and all but, LISA! that is CRAZY TALK! Ok, OK, I did put Sarge in the greenhouse one year after he was attacked by his own SON! (his name: The Phoenix. I gave him to a friend as he could no longer be trusted around Sarge). So I guess I get your drift. Dogs, tho, take precedence at the Menkes! ha!