The Fate of the Suicidal Rooster

So, our attack rooster actually, by the end of it, was really well loved. Once our chicks grew to be hen size he really chilled out. I guess with all the ladies to choose from and all of them mooning over him he wasn't feeling such a need to prove himself to the world and strut his stuff. He did....did being the key word here....a great job at roostering. I never tired of watching them all. It was the animal pyschology class I never intended to take. He was such a gentlemanly rooster. We'd go out once a day and give them the leftover sandwiches and all of the days' scraps and he would rush over to the food and then make sure his original 3 lady hens would get to eat. He'd pick it up and protect it from the chick hens and then place it on the ground when his ladies came around. And he could definitely protect them. He was the size of a small dog. The thing was massive. I used to think even dogs would be scared of him.....but we found that to be not so true about a week ago.

Cricket has gotten herself quite a few hens but never succeeded in killing any of them. I figured she just wanted to play since she'd pounce around, bark and play with it like a puppy, of sorts. I guess we just always got there in time to intervene before she had time to kill them off. One day last week the children were all rewarded for cleaning the playroom so well. Each participant was rewarded with a bottle of their choice of coke. It ended up that Grant, Garrett and Gavin took naps that day and the rest of everybody went into town with me for a quick errand. While there each person on the errand running picked their own bottled drink while I just brought a box of canned cokes home for the sleeping ones. This, of course, was NOT what any of the sleeping crew had planned. Grant had to be the most heartbroken of them all and wouldn't let the whole thing die while Garrett and Gavin were easily convinced that the canned cokes were much more wonderful than the bottled ones they'd been promised and drank up greedily. Any sort of coke is a novelty around here since they are never bought unless we have a birthday to celebrate. So, this was quite the reward for them all.

Feeling as though I should be the good parent and live up to my end of the deal Grant and I piled up in Brad's truck and took off for the gas station up the colleche road. While on our way to get in the truck I noticed our dear old rooster hanging out at the backyard gate. I shooed him away into the carport and went on our way never thinking much of it. When we arrived back home only a few minutes later we again passed the back gate...this time with the rooster on the other side of it....the wrong side of it. What kind of a stupid, crapped out rooster flies into a dog pen????? Cricket was jumping and rowdy having a grand ole time. Ole Rooster boy had indeed lost quite a bit of his dignity by that point and was missing all but 2 of his tail feathers. There was feather debris all over that portion of the backyard. When I looked closely even some of his down feathers had been pulled out. Yes, Cricket had quite the time tormenting the poor stupid chicken. I walked in and figured we had been right this whole time and that he indeed was too big for even a dog to mess with since he was still alive. Or maybe that he had just given her a run for her money and fought heroically back and actually won. He acted kind of funny once I was in there. Instead of running from me or towards his open gate to freedom he just stood there. I shooed him out with the toe of my boot and had to prod him a little to get him to move the right direction. He walked fine and did his funny chicken run over to the corner of the carport. Then he just kind of plopped down in a lone corner without going to locate his lady friends and reassure himself of their safety. Odd. So, I let him lay there thinking she just wore him out. Grayson offered him a trash can lid of water. Yum. He did drink a little. I grew tired of waiting on him to get up and move and was worried a little over his now labored breathing. I figured he was just getting dreadfully hot as he panted away so I again shooed him along and out into the fresh air and sweltering sun. At least there was air movement going on there Despite the fact the wind felt like a blast furnace it was at least blowing. Kind of feels like a hair dryer when it does that. He limped a little at first but then once he got going he was good to go. Running along and using both legs well. We went and reported to the rest of everybody that the rooster was fine and there were no long term attack effects. I gathered the scraps of the day from inside and went back out to disburse it all to my little poultry crowd. He was still fine and had located his ladies, hanging out with them. He even picked up the bread for them and politely handed it over like he always does. So, I emptied my basket full of scraps and he wandered off in good shape.

Later that night as dusk was fading and it was very near dark Grayson made his nightly venture to close them all safely within the coop. He came back in stating matter of factly, "Well....the rooster's dead." Knowing his love and ability to pull off pranks really well I didn't believe him. I laughed and argued with him until he finally convinced me by stating exactly where his lifeless body lay. So, I donned my boots and trekked back out there. Sure enough there in the tall pasture grass lay his gigantic, very much dead, rooster body. I nudged him with my boot and confirmed what was quite obvious at this point. It took some working up to it but I finally picked him up. At that point it got kinda sad. I really kind of liked him.

So at 10 at night I had my whole little entourage with me as we all went to dump the bird. With Garrison, Grant, Garrett and Gavin all cheering wildly that the big rooster's dead it appeared that the occasion seemed a little more celebratory to them. Grant has long hated the rooster since the episode where he chased him down and began pecking at his legs just being plain mean. But we had since found that rooster maturity brought with it a more docile state so those episodes had been forgotten. But poor Grant never seemed to overcome his incapacitating fear of roosters...or at least of that one. We're thinking he may be in need of a little poultry therapy. Everyone took turns petting his baby soft feathers, not so much grieving his loss but of the novelty of just being able to touch him without being pecked to death.

With everyone finally getting their fill of petting the dead bird we plopped him in the bed of the truck. There we were at 10 at night with a dead rooster and a ton of kids in the bed of it. I was a little at a loss of where exactly to do his dumping ceremony so we just drove down the winding trash road that leads to the Kickapoo river crossing. In the darkness with only the locusts and a bed full of kids to bring noise to the night we laid him gently on the shovel and then Grayson flung him as far as humanly possible into a nearby pasture. We promptly found that large heavyweight roosters don't fling so well as he landed with a thud in the bushes a few feet from us. I gasped at the far from gentle landing while the boys all shouted with glee and Grayson and Evye went into fits of laughter. We all stood and stared at him a minute...not exactly sure why. I guess just making sure he wasn't going to spring back to life at any given moment....which we were definitely not in any danger of at this point. We turned the truck around on the narrow dirt road and headed back home.

So, now our flock is less one massive rooster. And it really is still sad. How can you get attached to a crazy bird????? And even worse, how can one get attached to such a stupid bird???? I mean, really. What kind of chicken just flies over the fence and into the waiting jaws of a barking animal 3 times it size? Brad said he died of humiliation. He apparently couldn't handle having to strut minus the tail feathers. And a sight he was without them! We couldn't quit laughing as we watched him walk around the pasture lacking all rooster dignity.

We had 5 going but are now down to 4 due to that one's suicidal flight over the fence. Surprisingly, our little exotic, the handsomest and smallest one of them all, stood up and took his place. Every hen now follows him around and he is in charge of crowing them all back together. Chubbo bird used to crow and all of the others would come running so now Zody has stepped up to the plate and is rounding them up. We have 2 massive 10 pd white giants that could take him out in an instant but for some reason he pulled rank and got the title of chief. I guess the hens like a shorter man. Must go with the territory around here. In order to qualify for the job the male counterpart must be at least 2 inches shorter. Brad is proud that our chickens are modeling their marital relations after the two of us.