Better Creatures (or on the passing of Rooster)

Yesterday, when I went to the coop to start morning chores, I saw that my dear friend of more than nine years had passed away. We knew he was in his last days, and I had been thinking for weeks “any day now.” I can’t imagine that there will ever be another like him anywhere, but, logically, I know there are. Truly, though, our Rooster was one of the greats.

Rooster arrived on our little farm in the summer of 2016. We didn’t know he was a rooster at the time. We had ordered a small batch of meat birds from a hatchery. Back then, they would send you a “free surprise chicken” with any order over a certain size. Our magnificent Poe had been the free surprise chicken we got in our first batch of meat chickens, so I was excited to see who would arrive with our second batch.

Ron, my husband, had ordered all hens in this batch of birds because we were going to have to keep them in the garden area, as we had no other fenced area at the time. Our garden area is close to our neighbor, and Ron didn’t want our neighbors to have to listen to five or ten or fifteen roosters crowing every morning.

Five or six weeks after their arrival, one morning, I was out doing chores when I heard a crow come from the meat chickens. I wondered what I had just heard and then heard it again. Our “surprise chicken” was a rooster.

We had another rooster at the time who was just a little older than Rooster. He was a Rhode Island Red rooster bought from a hatchery before I understood that there is a big difference between a modern Rhode Island Red and a heritage Rhode Island Red. This rooster was a nightmare, but it was only when Rooster got old enough to help with the girls–and start fighting with this other rooster–that I realized that we may have lucked into the best rooster ever.

I wish Rooster had had a more original name, but somehow Rooster fit. He was named after Rooster Cogburn, and somehow, Rooster seemed to like his name. It was simple and sturdy, even though it somehow never seemed to capture his magnificence.

I remember the first time I understood who Rooster was. It was before Ron built the fence around our giant chicken yard, so we had to be careful free ranging. I got a call from the neighbor that a fox was in her yard headed toward our chickens. I ran outside to find Rooster giving commands to everyone. He had those hens in a line headed straight the coop. The other rooster was hiding in the coop.

It was when the boys started mating that I could see the most profound difference. The other rooster was so aggressive I thought he was going to kill some of the hens. Some people in the chicken forums said it was normal, but I could see Rooster and see that it wasn’t normal. Rooster was a gentleman and danced for the hens before mating. He always gave them treats and was the best tidbitter.

The day I fell in love with him though was the day he saved my favorite hen’s lives. The other rooster had gotten absolutely violent with the hens. Because I was new to chickens and people kept telling me it was normal rooster behavior, I had not gotten ride of the other rooster. One day, that rooster just tore into my sweet hen. I heard her scream from inside the house, and I knew it was bad. I was running her way, but I didn’t get there before Rooster was on that rooster. They fought for a bit until I was able to break it up. Rooster had my whole heart after that, and we never looked back. The other rooster had to go, and from then on out, I would never again tolerate a rooster who was abusive to the hens.

There are so many stories I could tell about Rooster. After all, nine years is a long time, and Rooster was always so interesting. These are a few of my favorites.

When Rooster was five years old, I thought we were going to lose him. He was never one to stand for health checks. He was too independent and dignified. It felt invasive to check his little butt like I did the girls. Plus, he had always been super healthy, so I never worried. But that summer, he was just so run down and was losing weight. I decided it was a time for a health check for that boy, and when I checked him in the coop one night, I saw he was covered in mites.

I scooped him up, and took him straight to the bath tub in the house. I apologized and apologized to him. It was all very undignified, and Rooster, who was a huge boy at this point (big enough that I was a little nervous about those spurs and him being in a bad mood about all this), handled it with as much dignity as possible. I spent hours picking the mite eggs out of his tail feathers. Stoic through it all, when I was finished, I said, “Rooster, that’s close enough. Let’s get you dried, and we’ll get you some treats.” I got out the blow dryer and he tolerated that too.

It was then that the most profound thing happened. I was sitting in the floor with him, just finished with the blow dry, and that big boy walked right up to me, and leaned his head on my shoulder. We hugged for several minutes, and I promised him that he would never have to deal with mites again.

And he never did because I checked that boy every few weeks for the rest of his life.

And my life was changed because of that hug. It was an honor I cannot put into words.

Another great story to tell about Rooster is the time he couldn’t save one of his hens from a hawk. Rooster was devastated. He didn’t let the hens out of the coop for nearly two weeks, and he mourned so much. I didn’t understand that a bird could mourn so visibly, but with head down and heavy heart, mourn he did. I kept telling him it was okay. I kept telling him he got most everyone out of danger, but Rooster was an organizer and not a fighter. He did not fight the hawk, and I could see it bothered him for a long time.

But his good work as an organizer and alarm system saved many hens. I knew the call he would make if a hawk was near, and I never once after that failed to run to his aid. Rooster and I were a team. We were a great team. I think he loved me for my diligence, just as I loved him for his.

I think my favorite story about Rooster is a funny one. A few years ago, we had just put a batch of young hens and roosters into the flock. They were about six weeks old and had been “turned loose” by their mama, so I put them with the rest of the flock. I had to struggle to make sure they got their own food though. It was a challenge because those hens are relentless when it comes to new and interesting food.

So, every morning, I would call the babies into a corner of the pasture and hold off the flock while they ate their baby food. Rooster also liked the baby food and would crowd me. One morning, he got past me and pecked the babies on their heads and started eating.

“Rooster!” I said, shaming him as much as I could. “Those are your very own children. I can’t believe you would take food from them.”

I immediately felt terrible for shaming him. He put his head down and backed away from me, so ashamed looking. I couldn’t believe that I had hurt him so deeply with my shaming. I went back to house heartbroken that I had so clearly hurt Rooster’s feelings.

Later that day, Ron had been outside working in the garden while I was in the house. He came inside with an urgent story to tell me. He explained that he had been saying hello to the baby chickens when he saw Rooster actually pick up some food and literally feed it to one of the babies. Ron couldn’t believe what he had seen.

I was like, “Oh, I have a story for you!”

And I told Ron the story. We were both wide eyed and in awe of Rooster. I mean, that’s some complex behavior. That story is going to stay with me for the rest of my life.

Rooster’s capacity for language was so high I wish someone could have studied him. H listened when I told stories about him, like really stood there with us and listened. As I write this post, I imagine that he would love me telling this stories about him. He listened most when I was talking about him to the neighbors.

Oh, and he made a little noise every time I sneezed. It was three little bok-bok-boks in a row. Every single time her heard me sneeze. I don’t know why, but he only did this for me, not anyone else. Ron said he was blessing me because he worried about me. I have no doubt. Maybe I was one of his hens to him. A few weeks ago, I was in the house, and the windows were opened. I sneezed a big sneeze, and I heard, from far away, “bok-bok-bok.”

What I am going to do without that boy? I wondered.

I just do not know.

Rooster also really loved music. When we finally found a good rooster to be Rooster’s successor a few years ago, Rooster retired from his years of being on duty and constant watch. When Ron works in the garden, he always listens to music. He listens to everything from classical to Pink Floyd. When Rooster finally got to retire, I would see him sitting out there near the speak just resting and listening. I noticed he seemed to like Vivaldi, and Ron noticed that he really liked Steely Dan.

In fact, on Rooster’s last full day on the planet, Ron sat with him for a long time and played music for him. He played a Steely Dan song and sang it to Rooster as well. He said Rooster looked at him in admiration because he could sing the song.

Yesterday, after Ron buried Rooster, and we both said goodbye, we came into the house and had our morning tea and cried. I cried the most, but Ron cried with me.

I wondered how the flock was going to be without Rooster. Rooster has always been. He has established a culture of kindness and order in our flock. Will the flock change without him? Will Dvorak, his predecessor, be able to maintain the same kind of culture? Dvorak came from a breeder here in Maine and is a great boy does not have Rooster’s good genes. His genetics are so poor that we have chosen not to breed him. We will have to find another rooster pretty soon. A good rooster is hard to find, and we need Dvorak to be able to train the next one. But we also need that rooster to be smart enough to learn from Dvorak as Dvorak was smart enough to learn from Rooster.

In addition to our pain of loss, Rooster’s death presents a problem for our farm. He was integral to this operation.

Through my tear, I also wondered about the big questions. What’s the point of all this? Why do we have to hurt so badly? Will Rooster come back in a different form? Will I ever see him again?

And then Ron said one of the wisest things I have ever heard.

“We are better creatures for knowing him, and he was a better creature for knowing us.” He continued, “We respected him and gave him room to be who he wanted to be. And he was loved every day.”

I have been really struggling with depression in recent months. For all the reasons I think a lot of people are struggling, I suppose. I mean, it’s a mad world, is it not?

But Ron said these words that I have to remember always:

“Every day, you show those chickens love. Every day. There is not a single moment of their lives that they are not loved. That’s good for them and good for you,” he said. And then we both added together, “maybe it’s good for the whole world.”

When I am struggling and down and depressed, I have to remember this truth. I may not be able to change the world, but I am doing good. Maybe it’s important too. Maybe the life of a chicken is really important too.

The flock was eerily quiet yesterday and today. Our world has changed with Rooster’s passing.