Tag: rooster

Better Creatures (or on the passing of Rooster)

~ Crystal Sands ~ 3 Comments

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.

Rooster Is Sick

~ Crystal Sands ~ 2 Comments

Day 218 of 365

In the last week or so, for morning chores, Ron has been doing the chickens while I do the ducks. Then, he’s been putting the chickens up at night as well, as he’s checking for rats. We had a big hole in the coop last week that he had to repair. I still deliver treats to the chickens and collect eggs, but I haven’t been seeing them as much as usual. Tonight, while Ron was burning tree branches (there is a lot of burning that has to happen in the woods of Maine, but that’s another story), I decided to go ahead and put the chickens to bed. I couldn’t believe what I heard. It sounded almost like a bear growling!

It was my sweet Rooster, rattling from a respiratory infection! In 2019, our entire flock came down with an epic respiratory infection. And I mean epic. I was a nurse for months. Everyone lived, but Rooster has always had struggles with relapses, especially when it gets cold. I should have known to check on him more when it got so cold this week, but I didn’t. And our boy sounded terrible.

Rooster doesn’t like to be touched, so I generally try to respect this. Plus, I have to admit that I am a little afraid of his spurs. We do not trim them unless they get too long for him to get around because his spurs are his weapons should he have to fight a predator. Also, he’s really big, so much bigger than the hens, so that makes me a little nervous too. But when I heard him rattling so terrible, I went over and scooped him up.

He didn’t protest very much. I told him what I was going to do, and, thankfully, he seemed to understand and settled down. I brought him into the guest bathroom, which is also our animal care center, and I got out the good stuff–the antibiotics for respiratory illnesses. I try to never use antibiotics. I know they are VERY much overused in general, but he sounded really, really terrible. I didn’t want to waste any time getting him better. Hopefully, it will work quickly.

He was a very good patient. I put the medicine in the syringe and leaned down in his face. I tapped the syringe on his beak and told him I needed to put this in his beak. He opened a little; I squirted it in; he swallowed. I don’t know how smart this bird is, but I wish a scientist could study him. He has to be way up there in the range. It was like he understood exactly what I was going to do and was very helpful. I will wonder forever how much language that boy understands.

Anyway, I took the opportunity to just check him everywhere. Thankfully, he has no mites, but he has a little wound on his comb, so I treated that and gave his feet and legs a good rub with moisturizer and rubbed some Vet RX (kind of like Vicks Vapor Rub for chickens) around his little nostrils. I also just treasured the opportunity to touch his feathers and admire the beauty of this animal. I never get to see him up so close. He’s magnificent. His tail feathers are shiny green/black, and I was reminded of how roosters really are just beautiful creatures.

We wrapped it up with some treats, which he ate from my hand. He never gets a chance to do this when I feed treats to the whole flock because some of the hens are just too bossy and take it right away from him. It was really cool getting to hang out with him some, and I wished he could just stay inside until he got better. But can you imagine a puppy and rooster in the house?

I went to check on him just a few minutes ago, and he sounds a little better already. I hope he gets better soon, but I am looking forward to spending the next several days giving him medicine and treats every night. It will be great to spend some one-on-one time with such a magnificent creature.

Rooster, the Best Rooster

~ Crystal Sands ~ 7 Comments

Day 170 of 365

When we decided to get a rooster for our flock, we did not take the decision lightly. There are pros and cons to roosters, but in our efforts to be self-sustaining, we decided we wanted to try a rooster. We special ordered a Rhode Island Red rooster. I hand raised him and followed every bit of instruction I could find about raising a good rooster. I found out later that most of this information on the internet about raising a good rooster was incorrect, and our little Rhode Island Red rooster turned out to be pretty much a monster when it came to the hens. He was great with me, but he terrorized the hens. I kept reading that this was “normal.” I asked questions in forums, and people said it was “normal” rooster behavior. I had my doubts, but I was fairly new to chickens and doubted myself. 

Then, in a batch of baby chicks we ordered online, we got a free “surprise” chicken. A couple of months into raising that group of chicks, I heard a crow. What would we do with two roosters? But, since our Rhode Island Red was a holy terror, I wondered if this new little guy might be better. 

I moved the little guy into the garage where my favorite chicken in the world, Poe, often hung out, and I asked her to raise him. She did a great job. She pecked him on the head so much that I questioned her methods, but she helped raise a good boy. I have also learned that genetics help A LOT, but being raised by a strong female also helps the boys be a little better behaved. 

We named him “Rooster” by default, I suppose, and Rooster loved Poe. He stayed with Poe until he was big enough to move into the coop. He was always shy around us, but when we moved him into the main flock, we saw fairly quickly that he was great with the hens. He danced to woo them and seemed to be far less aggressive than our Rhode Island Red rooster.

Then, there was one day the neighbor called to say a fox was in her garden, which was right next to our chicken area. I thanked her and ran outside to try to save my chickens, only to find that Rooster was at the gate to the run, calling to all of the girls. He had every one of those hens lined up (they were literally in a line) and headed to the coop to safety. When the last one was headed to the coop, he followed them in. He had organized a plan, and everyone was just fine!

I knew we had lucked into the best rooster, but it wasn’t until the Rhode Island Red rooster nearly killed our sweet girl, Broody Hen, that he went to the pot and Rooster became the full-time head of the flock. 

Over the years, he has still never been comfortable with me touching him. He’s very proud, and we learned a few years in that he’s an organizer and a thinker—but not a fighter. 

The first time we had a hawk attack, I ran out to find it killing one of our hens, Lucy II. It was devastating. I scooped Lucy II up and looked around to try to find Rooster. I found him. He had called for as many girls as he could and was holding them in the shrubs, but I guess the attack surprised him. He stared for nearly an hour at the place where the attack had happened. I could see the devastation on his face. 

When he finally got all of the girls to the coop later, he would not let them out again for nearly two weeks. I didn’t know how obvious a chicken’s sadness could be until I saw Rooster. He was depressed for the longest time. I could see he thought he had failed his flock, and it had broken his little heart—and his spirit. I worried for a bit that he might not snap out of his depression, but he finally did.

He is still not a fighter, but he’s very, very good at alerting us to danger. And I am now smart enough to know what his calls mean and when I need to come running in a hurry. Just last summer, he screamed like I had not heard in years, so I dropped everything and ran just in time to see two hens fighting off a hawk. Rooster seemed so relieved that everyone was okay.

I have two particularly powerful stories to tell about Rooster that will help you get a sense of who he is. Because he’s so proud and doesn’t like my touch, I would never give him health inspections like I did the girls. I figured if the girls were overall healthy and mite free, Rooster was as well. But one summer, I saw him being really tired and droopy. I had been really busy rehabilitating a duck I had inherited and didn’t notice Rooster until he was in pretty rough shape. I realized I was going to have to make him uncomfortable and give him a full health check. He was getting older, and I thought we may lose him. 

I went to the coop that night with a flashlight, and I didn’t have to inspect very much before I saw the problem. My sweet Rooster had mites!

I was a little nervous about doing this because he’s a big boy, a Welsummer, and his spurs are big too, but I scooped him up and took him to the guest bathroom for a bath and mite treatment. On top of the humiliation of a bath, because I couldn’t stand the thought of those mite eggs being stuck in his feathers, I spent more than an hour picking out eggs of poor Roster’s feathers while he stood on the towel after his bath. He just stood there and let me do my work—forever. 

When I had gotten as much as I thought I was going to be able to get for that night, I told Rooster I was so sorry, that I would make sure he never had mites again. And I am not kidding even just a little bit, this happened:

I was in the floor with him. We were both a wet mess. He turned around to look at me and then came up to me and leaned his body into mine. There, in the bathroom floor, he leaned his head on my shoulder and held it there the longest time. I gently put my arm around him and realized this was one of those profound moments of my life. My sweet but stand-offish Rooster was giving me a hug. 

If I wasn’t in love with him before, I surely was after that. When I told my neighbor about it, she said I might need to be careful about telling people that story, that people might think I was crazy. Here I am now, with full confidence, telling you this story. I have seen so much more since then, and I can, without hesitation, say that chickens can give you a hug in a special moment. The bonds we share are real, and they are highly intelligent animals, some especially so.

That was the sweetest story about my Rooster, but I have an amazing story too.

A couple of summers ago, I had just moved some young chickens out with the main flock. They were still little, so I had to try to feed them their special baby food every chance I got. I was out in the chicken yard one morning, feeding the babies, when Rooster came up, ran them off, and started eating their baby food. In his old age, Rooster has definitely become a foodie. 

I shamed him and told him, “These are your babies, Rooster. Shame on you for stealing their baby food.” 

He backed away, obviously ashamed of himself, and then I felt terrible for shaming him. I could see I had hurt his feelings. I did not mention this story to my husband, Ron.

Later that afternoon, Ron came into the house and said, “I have to tell you a story about Rooster that you aren’t going to believe.” 

Ron said that he was out in the chicken yard, and he saw Rooster near the babies. “I saw the most remarkable thing,” he said. “Rooster picked up a pellet of food in his beak and then leaned over and fed it to a baby chicken!” 

I could NOT believe this. I then told Ron my story from earlier in the day, and we realized we, indeed, had a very intelligent and very special rooster on our hands. 

In his very old age now, he’s far too grumpy. He used to give all the food to the hens. Now, he takes the food for himself. He doesn’t mate much, but he still tries some. This summer, when we tried to raise some chicks from our own eggs, we had about a 25 percent fertilization rate and an even smaller success rate. 

We need a new rooster, but the new rooster has to get along with Rooster and know his place because, no matter what, our Rooster is going to be cared for to the best of my abilities until the day he passes. And when that day comes, I will mourn him with all of my heart. 

Rooster is one of the greats.