Fowl play

Last fall we noticed we had a surplus of roosters in the coop when the poor hens began to look...uh...stressed.

Now, if you've ever witnessed chicken sex, you know it's not pretty. There's nothing consensual about it. I joke that I know what every hen thinks when she's having sex, "Just once I'd like to have sex without having my face rubbed in the dirt." And, frankly folks, that's as pleasant as it gets. I'll spare you the other details.

When my mother became so offended by this that she refused to come to the chicken coop any more, we tossed all of the roosters but two out of the fenced area around the coop to fend for themselves. Our abundance of roosters became my husband's favorite joke.

When neighbors announced they were expecting a baby, Mark would say, "That kid's going to need a pet. I'll bring you a rooster." When work took a local guy away from home too often, Mark would say, "Your wife would feel safer if she had a rooster. He'd crow if something unusual was happening outside at night. I'll drop one off for you."

When I went to the chicken coop recently, I knew Mark had made one rooster joke too many. I called him from my cell phone.

"Did you notice anything unusual when you let the chickens out of the coop this morning," I asked.

"No," he said. "What is it?"

There before me stood yet another rooster. How did I know he was new? Well, we've never had a white rooster in the bunch. I tossed him a handful of corn and went on my way.

Mark suggested that the new rooster had wondered here from a house that also has chickens about a quarter mile down the road. I thought - and still think - otherwise. Somewhere, we have a couple of neighbors secretly snickering as they try to guess what our reaction was when we first spotted that new rooster - rooster No. 12.

I wish I could provide more details about the newcomer, but he disappeared as mysteriously as he appeared. There's no trail of feathers to suggest fowl - I mean foul - play.

Did he wonder back up the street? Did someone feel guilty and come take the old fellow home? We may never know.