My Chicken Story: Some Roosters Rock

I’m a big proponent about keeping roosters and their integral role in a flock. I’ve had four roosters over the years, all of them gentle with me and their hens, good providers and protectors. I cringe when I read of folks misinterpreting normal rooster behaviour as aggression. Too often, their response is to try to dominate those boys with aggression in an attempt to show them ‘who is boss’.

Here’s a positive story of how a chicken keeper worked with her rooster to develop a bond based on mutual respect, trust and love. For those who think that all roosters are potentially ‘bad’ or once they’ve shown some form of perceived aggression will never change I challenge them to learn about what motivates those boys and how to work with them to maintain a harmonious and stress-free flock.

---

My boy has my heart so full it could burst with happiness and pride.

Sir Winston Churchill, whom we lovingly call Winnie was a year old on Valentine’s Day and is not legal where I live. One of our neighbours chose to report us rather than talk to us. Instead of rehoming my boy or never letting him enjoy the outside for fear of his singing, we’ve decided to move.

It’s been a long process and we’re still looking for the right fit so Winnie has been living in the house for the past 3½ months with us. Despite going through rooberty pretty intensely (especially a few months ago) what it has done for our relationship has been priceless.

This morning, however, was like nothing I’ve ever experienced. And had I not experienced it myself, firsthand, I may have been tempted to think some embellishments were added for the sake of a good story. But also knowing what I know of roosters now and how incredible they truly are I think I know I’d actually believe the story exactly as it was told. Because. Well. Roosters.

Like many of us, we’re currently experiencing an arctic/polar blast, and are in the 20’s and teens, with the windchill making it even colder. Yesterday I let the girls outside twice for about 45 minutes each time just so they could get some burn off some energy – and they ran around and had fun – but I could also tell they were cold.

Today in Texas it’s even colder, so I made the executive decision that they didn’t get to go outside.

To say they were unenthused is quite the understatement, so much so that I said cluck it and decided to let them run around the downstairs of my house instead.

Winnie was, of course, ecstatic, as it’s the first time he’s been able to hang out with all of his ladies at one time in months. Since he’s been living inside he has a pair of trousers (chicken diapers, but we call them trousers because my boy likes to feel like a dignified man) that fit him perfectly. My cock is an XL. Just saying. Anyway, the original pair I ordered was a size smaller and, I felt, slightly too tight, so with one spare chicken diaper, I figured three girls pooping in the house was better than four, and decided to dress one of the girls. (Yes. I may indeed regret this later. )

I grabbed the closest girl, spare trousers in hand, and sat on the floor with her trying to put it on. And my girl was not having it. At all.

Winnie and I have this routine down to a science every morning.  At night I take his trousers off so he can have a rest from them while he sleeps in his condo. In the morning when I let him out, we wash his feet, snuggle, and get dressed. He stands there on the floor, not fighting or trying to get away at all, as I sit on the floor with him and put them on. He stays there for a few minutes for pets and lovies afterwards, and then he walks off and putters around the house the rest of the day.

Well, Peanut wasn’t having any of it, and started flipping out on me while I was trying to get the material between her legs. I saw Winnie starting to dash right towards me and in the seconds I had, my thoughts were, “Well, here we go. I’m ‘assaulting’ his lady, and now I’m about to get it.” I was just hoping maybe he’d be gracious enough and not actually bite, but just warn me.

However, instead of any of that, my sweet boy was running over to HELP ME!

Literally. He ran right up to us, and grabbed Peanut’s head and tried to help hold her still. She got away, and he literally started to pull her back over to me, before letting go, yapping at her some more and, I kid you not, she slowly started walking back over to me as he followed her. I tried again and she started freaking out once more, so he squawked at her, grabbed her, and held her for me AGAIN.

Peanut was dressed. You could tell he was mad at her for giving me grief about it.

One hundred percent, without any doubt, my boy was trying to help me. And he did.

When it clicked that he realizes that we’re a team with these ladies, and that we’re working together for the sake of everyone it made me so happy, proud, and warm-hearted, my eyes filled with happy tears. I don’t even fully have the words for it.

It’s like all of our learning and growing together is finally starting to really show itself and the rewards are there to be reaped, as we continue to sow.

My boy ran to me to help me. It doesn’t get any more amazing to me than that. It doesn’t feel any better than that. And it made me realize that if someone was trying to hurt me or broke in with the intent to harm he’d probably run to me and help save me then, too.

And as tears swell in my eyes, just writing this, and realizing this once more, I’m listening to him over by the couches cooing to his best girl. Completely content. My best boy. Regardless of how frigid it may be outside right now, my heart could not be any warmer.

The picture (above) is of my boy last night by the fireplace: preening, admiring and investigating. I realize my house is currently a disaster with pillows that seem too close to the fire (they’re not), but a disaster filled with love, nonetheless.

So this may sound ridiculous to some, but I know the majority of chicken keepers will understand. I went out of town for five days and left my rooster for the first time in about three months. Winnie and I have grown so close with him living inside (as he’s not legal where we live, my neighbor reported us, the city came, and now I’m hiding him inside until we move). I’m not exaggerating when I say I had tears in my eyes as I was leaving him and saying goodbye. It was as if I were leaving forever, although it was only five days. Yes, my family thinks I’m mildly nuts. No, I do not care.

I’ve determined my boy is my heart/spirit animal. And I know he can feel it too. In the past when I’ve come home from trips he always showed me attitude and there was very noticeable regression in the progress we had made prior to my leaving. He used to try to bite me, and even a few times, flog me. He was mad at me for leaving, changing our routine, leaving them in the care of a “sitter” (heaven forbid) – and no longer deemed me trustworthy. We always had to work at gaining some of it back and that always broke my heart; losing much of what we had worked so hard to achieve. I knew it was my fault for leaving.

So this time around, my first trip post-inside living I didn’t quite know what to expect with my homecoming. I could only hope my boy has grown with me as much as I feel like he has since living inside, but the chance of him being upset with me, or untrusting again since I left him and his ladies was possible. The thought of it made my heart take quite the dip. Knowing, that still, no matter what, I’d do everything within my being to get it back. I got home super late last night and after taking him out of his extended stay condo, we snuggled and cuddled and I rocked him to sleep. Everything seemed fine.

It was incredibly late, dark, and in my mind there was still potential for feistiness in the morning; once he was rested and it was daylight, and he had time to realize he wanted me to know he, in fact, didn’t appreciate my absence. When I let him out of his condo this morning, and picked him up to wash his feet and started to put his trousers (diaper) on – everything seemed just as perfect as it was before I left. Usually after I put his trousers on he stands there and we give lovies, pets and snuggles before he waltzes off to rule his castle.

But today, sitting on the floor with Winnie, before I could even get his cute little pants on – my boy was pushing his body warmly into mine, closing his eyes, cuddling into me, and making his happy little, “chippy, chippy, chippy,” sounds, as we call it. His trousers weren’t even on yet. My boy missed me just as much as I missed him. And happy tears flooded my tired eyes.

This morning’s snuggles meant more than any in the past because now I know the trust is genuinely there. Wholeheartedly. The love and the connection; for both of us. Now, not easily shattered.

And there’s no warmer feeling in this moment for me than that.

---

Many thanks to Meredith Holloway Helbon for sharing her story and photos.

If you’ve got something you’d like to share drop me a line using the ‘contact’ button on my homepage.