Yep, that's right! I'm talking trash about a rooster...
Yeah, that's the one! Just look at him...the beast! OK, I admit that he may be a swell-looker, but I promise you that beneath all of those flashy feathers and markings, there is evil in his soul!
My small flock of hens is actually quite lovely and pleasant, and I don't mind having them around at all. This one is a particular favorite...
They don't actually all have names, but I just can't avoid coming up with something to call them, and it usually ends up being somehow associated with their physical appearance. This is "Speckles," and she lays green eggs.
In general, I love having chickens around, but man roosters can be such a pain in the ass! An aggressive one can be completely unpredictable in his mood swings, and will be set off by the most random of things. He just might not like the shoes you're wearing. Literally. I have had my shoelaces attacked.
If you think a rooster, because of his thoroughly non-threatening size, couldn't possibly inflict any real harm, you are so, so wrong. They are freakishly fast when they want to be, and if they take a notion to mess with you, they will charge at you at full speed, completely un-phased by what you would think they would consider your dominating size and stature. Should they catch up to you, they have talons, and those talons will hook into your skin. I learned that the hard way one day when I went into my chicken house to put down food, and a different rooster thought he'd just see about that. Before I even realized what was happening, or knew I had done anything to offend, he was hooked into my calf, and began repeatedly pecking my leg at an amazingly rapid speed. Beaks are sharp. Pain was inflicted. I also learned in that moment that roosters are surprisingly strong, and he had quite a grip on me. After prying him off, I walked away from that situation with a leg torn to shreds and dripping in blood, much wiser in the ways of farm life.
Since then, I have made use of the old "walk softly and carry a big stick" philosophy. At this point, we just have the one rooster, and with him it seems to work. Even when he is clearly feeling feisty, if I have some sort of branch, rake, shovel, or other sort of "big stick" when I approach, he sizes me up, somehow registers that item as heavy artillery, and keeps his cool. I don't even have to do anything with it...it just acts as some sort of a magic shield against attack. I have learned from experience, though, to protect the lower legs, so I usually keep it low and close to the body.
Today I embarked upon an extremely standard part of my routine that the rooster is often around for with no fuss. I went out to the goat house to let them out for the day and went to check on the progress of the vegetables in the garden. Before going back into the house I was planning to stop by the shed and get something out of it, which was apparently my offense. Up until this point, the rooster was nowhere in sight for today's routine, so I hadn't picked up one of my "big stick" implements. And then, when I started to make my way toward the shed door, out of nowhere he was there, making it very clear that he would have none of that. He guarded that shed door like the black night in the Quest for the Holy Grail! It was equally militant and comedic in its ridiculousness.
When a rooster is angry, he will do any number of things to intimidate you with his impressive physicality. He began charging at my feet, all the while puffing up and shaking his feathers, spreading and flapping his wings, and crowing loudly. And there I was, devoid of my big stick. Not wanting to hurt him, not wanting him to hurt me, and otherwise completely at a loss for what to do, I did what I believe any other sane and mature adult would do. I started acting just like a pissed off rooster. I started yelling, wildly flailing my arms, and stomping on the ground in his direction. It was not my proudest moment! It's a good thing that none of our neighbors have a very clear view of that part of our property, because they probably could have served popcorn and charged admission.
I wouldn't really say that it worked, exactly. He was still pissed, and once he regrouped, I'm sure he still would have been ready to fight the crazy, large rooster-woman. But he was extremely confused, and that called him off just long enough for me to get to my pitchfork, which was nearby. With my big stick in hand, I made by way to the shed door as the rooster fell back.
Ah, rural life! Sometimes you win, and sometimes the animals do. Sometimes he's completely mellow and almost seems to like me, and other times he's out for blood. In this case, I guess as long as I'm carrying my stick, it's a stalemate.
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