We still have a rooster-in-the-making. Six weeks ago, I took the most aggressive chicks down to the feed store to sell. I hoped, in the process, to rid our coop of the young cockerels and keep peace in the neighborhood.
The day after their departure, however, the remaining boy decided to announce himself with a wake up call to everyone that sleeps coop side (thankfully, I’m on the other side of the house, so I missed it completely)!
Immediately, my nieces and nephews (who all own their own chicken, so we’re kind of in a joint venture), begged to keep him. They don’t get the whole process, but they do know that a rooster + hens = baby chicks. That’s all they needed to know.
I caved in, but stressed that it MIGHT only be temporary. And once we figured out which little chick ‘he’ was, ‘Dotty’ needed a name change.
Now it seems, since our coop has been filled with hens this whole time, naming a rooster would be easy. But, precisely BECAUSE we never get to name boys, a problem has arisen. Charlie. Oscar. Oscar Meyer Rooster. Rupert. Roo. Everyone has their own idea of the perfect name for him.
And as he grows, the city kids are getting their first ‘farm life’ sex ed class. The other day I was outside with Jake and he was watching the dashing young roo getting his groove on with all the hens he could catch.
“Why is Oscar jumping on all the girls?” he asked.
I wasn’t prepared for a full on birds and bees lesson so I just said, “Well, um, it’s kinda like chicken kissing.”
“Well, the girls don’t like it!”
“Yea, girls don’t always like kissing.”
“Well, they do if they’re married.”
The next day, his younger brother said to me in an outrage, “Do you know what Charlie does?”
Oh no, here we go again…“What?”
“He pretends he finds a worm or something and tells all the girls to come over and then he jumps on them!”
Oh, that crafty little guy! Can you imagine the fun he’s having as the only rooster in a household with ten potential dates?
So, Charlie-Oscar-Rupert is still on his temporary visa. And he can stay as long as he doesn’t get too mean (I don’t want everyone afraid to go out in the backyard), or too noisy (my city allow roosters, but I don’t want the neighbors to kill us).
I think we should call him ‘Lucky’.
