Most species, ours included, favour offspring of one sex over the other. The reasons may be embedded in culture but arise from pragmatism.
If you observe wild animals some live in packs like wolves, usually consisting of a dominant couple, other females and subordinate males. Once those males reach maturity they often move on to start their own group because competition over resources and the right to mate can lead to conflict. Other species live communally in which adolescent males leave to form bachelor groups. The latter is true of the ancestors of the modern chicken and even with feral chickens.
Everyone knows that the role of roosters is to protect the flock, mediate conflict, find food and reproduce, but that doesn’t require a 1:1 ratio of males to females. In fact, it works against group cohesion to have too many males. I’ve got one rooster and about 30 hens. I could probably accommodate one more male, but it’s not necessary and would surely result, at the very least, in more crowing. Statistically male and female chicks hatch in equal numbers, so what happens to those surplus to requirements cockerels?
Chickens are the most populous bird species on the planet – a whopping 34 billion in 2023 – and are raised for meat and eggs. Males provide meat, but hens are dual purpose in that they can do both. The bottom line is most roosters, however pretty or friendly, are superfluous to both commercial operations and small flock keepers alike. The dilemma, then, is how to deal with them. Sadly many are used for cock fighting, dumped to fend for themselves or killed.
During the Covid pandemic there was a rush on adopting cats and dogs, but once folks were back at work and busy with their lives as things returned to normal many of those family pets were rehomed or surrendered to the SPCA. Similarly, with the increase in the number of backyard chickens in the last few years, there’s also been an increase in chickens – mostly roosters – ending up in shelters and at rescues.
Here are some stories of dumped and rescued roosters.
So, yesterday I saw this rooster up the road from where I live. I tried to grab him, but wasn’t able to. I was a bit more prepared with crumble and a net today and managed to catch him. He had a red leg band growing through his leg. I removed it and put him in a pen with food and water. He’s covered in lice, so I’ll treat him.
Two days ago I took two kennels with my unwanted roosters and drakes to a woman who is going to take care of them properly until she culls for food. I don’t need another rooster, but I’ll care for him for now. Come on people, do better. This is appalling. – Connie Haslam Green
Dear Mom,
It’s your rooster. Do you remember that day you said you couldn’t handle me anymore and left me in a “safe” place? I ran after you as you drove away, but my legs weren’t fast enough to catch up. I was really hoping you’d come back, but days have passed, and I haven’t seen anyone. I’ve been walking, trying to find my way home, but there’s nothing out here- just endless emptiness. I keep asking myself, what did I do wrong? You loved me so much when I was a baby. I don’t understand why you would do this to me.
I’m hungry, and I haven’t found any water. I’m starting to feel weak, so I’ve been hiding because there are other animals out here that might hurt me. I don’t know how much longer I can go on, but I hold onto hope that you’ll come back for me.
Yesterday, an unfamiliar face saw me hiding in the bushes. I was scared, but I was too weak to run. She gently picked me up and softly told me I was going to be okay. She wrapped me in a blanket, took me to her home, and fed me, gave me water, and something she called medicine to help me feel strong again. She placed me in a cozy crate, kissed me on the head, and told me to rest.
It’s been a few days since I came to her home, and I feel so much better now – I even crowed today! I miss you, Mom, but I think I’m safe now. The kind lady said I can stay here for the rest of my days.
I’m leaving this note just in case you come back and can’t find me. It feels so good to be loved now.
Sincerely, Your dumped rooster
Three Hot Chicks
“Have you lost a rooster? There’s one by the side of the road at your southern boundary. I think he’s injured.” Our hearts raced. They couldn’t possibly be ours. Regardless, we checked. “All stations, all stations – we’re not missing a rooster by any chance?”
The reply came swift and steady. “No. Everyone is here.” Still, we went. There, crouched in the grass, was a kind soul keeping watch over the bird. And then we saw them – more dark shapes among the blackened remnants of long-ago bushfire. Roosters. Camouflaged among the charred debris, popping up like silhouettes. Vanishing at the sight of us.One. Two. Three.
Backup was called. Together, we moved in. Our first target was the older fellow, clearly struggling to walk. But we underestimated his agility. Rallying his band of brave birds, they were off. They sprinted into a paddock. Weaving through fallen branches, jumping downed logs and finding fence gaps. Deft of craggy foot. Brave of beating heart.Though quickly caught, the adept fourth squeezed through an impossible opening, zig-zagging like a seasoned escape artist until, at last, he was cornered. And safe.
These defiant birds weren’t just survivors – they were warriors. Dumped by a cold heart who no longer had a use for them, likely spurred by an inability to produce eggs and the crowing of the young cockerels. Yet they’d stayed together. Outwitted predators. And defied the odds. The leader we named Mark Antony, a rooster of spectacular stature and unbreakable spirit. Even in our arms, he pecked at our hands, determined to regain his freedom. People who use the word chicken as a slur have clearly never met a brave bird. We overpower them in strength. We dominate them in size. We exploit them in use. And yet they will fight for their lives when held in our grip.
Though Mark Antony had a steely veneer, his body told a harder truth: a razor-edged keel bone from hunger, discarded string cruelly bound around his toes, one toe already lost and another two at risk. With care and precision, we freed him from the string, trimmed his long nails and treated his painful scaly mite. Beside him, Julius Caesar, young, proud, with a band of white feathers at his neck that set him apart. And his likely brothers, Cassius in shiny black plumes that gleamed like armour and pensive Cicero, tall on his yellow legs, inhaling deeply as if ready to deliver a grand oration.
Perhaps, we ponder, that message would be: dump cruelty, not roosters. The tale of these brave birds is one sanctuaries hear all too often, one littered across many social media pages and one that could so easily be avoided. Whether discarded from chicken-hatching programs that teach little of responsibility, surplus from breeders or sold to the naive as backyard layers only to become testosterone-charged lads, roosters too often pay a tragic price for it all.
And please never forget – behind every egg laying hen, in every system—cage, barn, free-range, or organic- there’s a dear rooster who wasn’t wanted. Most never see their first sunrise. Can you imagine, but for a moment, if every male puppy or kitten were killed simply because of their gender?
And those like Mark Antony and his loyal band too often fall through the cracks of kindness, animal protection laws and council provisions. But we can change this. We can choose care over cruelty. We can be like these brave birds – loyal, strong and willing to take a stand.
Dump cruelty, not roosters. It really is that simple and it starts with us. – Edgar’s Mission
Thanks to everyone who shared their stories and photos. Featured photo credit: Three Hot Chicks
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