Too BIG FOR THEIR BRITCHES!

This is the third in my series about all things chicken-y, especially roosters.  As I mentioned, I have owned four roosters.  Unlike the hens they didn't live out their days at my place, and they all went to that great hen house in the sky before their time. One of the reasons that roosters crow is to announce their presence, and to announce their dominion over their territory and their hens.

Something I've learned from the school of life, is that no matter what, DON'T mess with a man's ego or as the kids call it now, their "swagger" or "swag".  Most of us have it in one way or another, that ego, that sense of self confidence.  It seems to me that it is more important to men that they have a strong, healthy ego.  There is nothing more attractive than confidence in a man.  It is sexy, plain and simple.  Try to imagine John Wayne, Antonio Banderas, Johnny Depp, or Robert Pattinson without their swagger.  Imagine them brow beaten and emasculated -- like a certain reality show husband with a lot of kids was a few years ago.  It is a sad, sad thing.  You may wonder why I am talking about this!?  I bring it up because there is no other animal that I have dealt with that has as much SWAG and EGO as the rooster.  The way they strut, and fluff their feathers and are always hyper vigilant is certain, consistent, comical and kinda lovable too.  There is a reason the word COCKY is what it is.  If you look up the definition of the word, it is:  "excessively proud of oneself: overconfident, arrogant, brash, swaggering, conceited, egotistical, cocksure, swollen-headed, vain, full of ones self" Those are the perfect words to describe roosters.  You can easily add in ornery and sneaky too!

Let's face it though, if you looked this good, you might be more than a little proud of yourself!  And prideful they are. Our first rooster, Elvis was a big mixed breed.  He was very tall, his head came up to my knee.  We had raised him from a peep, but once he "got down" with his bad self......no more Mr. Nice Guy.  Every time I, or my eldest daughter went in to feed them or gather eggs he started squawkin' and stalkin'!  You have to take them seriously because they have spurs. 

And they know how to use them!  You can have them "removed" but then how could they defend the honor of their ladies?  With Elvis, we devised our first "rooster stick"  It was a a piece of lath about 4 feet long.  Of course we never hit him with it, or poked him with it -- even though sorely provoked to do so.  We used it to herd him away from us, or the hens towards him, or to herd him into the hen house at night, or when we wanted to spend some quality time with the girls and feed them meal worms -- which they LOVED.  I only took my eye off him once, and DAD-GUM it -- he got me.  It was the day before Thanksgiving and I was distracted and in a hurry.  I didn't get my rooster stick and he spurred me right in the knee!  He left a hole and it hurt!  So if you see a rooster that looks like this, take heed.

You may wonder about my roosters early demises.  Elvis was beautiful and he took care of the chicken yard and we developed an uneasy detente over the years.  As he got older, I noticed that he developed the habit of flying to the top of the fence around his yard in order to taunt my cocker spaniels.  It was insane!  There were four of them and one of him, but that didn't phase him.  He would glare at them and crow as loud as he could.  They would go bonkers and bark and it only made him prouder of himself.  I should have known that it was a suicide mission between Elvis the Kamikaze rooster and the dogs -- but I was a novice.  One day while I was washing eggs in the kitchen the dogs started barking and he started crowing.  I looked out the kitchen window and shushed them, even telling old Elvis to scat.  Then it happened as if in slow motion.  He flew into the patio to attack the dogs!! I ran to come to his aid, and he tried to get me again!!  I got the dogs off of him and dumped him into the chicken yard, but alas the damage was done.  He was alive, but his comb and wattle were injured.  We cleaned him up and put him in a large dog crate with straw, water and food.  The next morning I was awakened by the silence.  He was still alive, but had lost his ability to crow and strut.  He sat there like a rooster with no mojo, a mere shadow of the once majestic bird named Elvis.  He lived one more day, and then died. I don't know what was injured more -- his physical self or his ego, but he taught me a lot.  About nature, and roosters, ego and about myself.  Next time I write about chickens, I will write about eggs, feed and whether you should let your small children around a rooster.  And as a teaser to that, look at this picture and start to form your own opinion!

This Buff Orpington Rooster is about the size of our Elvis!

Until then......oodles of toodles!