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.

Strange birds

Chickens are strange birds. I never thought you could get attached to a chicken, but I was mistaken.

When the first second-hand chickens arrived on this farm, we named one large rooster who was missing an eye - Popeye. My niece and nephew named the hens. Then a friend's son sold us three silkies. This is a beautiful girlie-looking breed that lay tiny eggs. Since the Silkies were all hens, we named the Marsha, Jan and Cindy. We've had a rooster named Rocky.

We have found it interesting that when friends and neighbors bring children to the farm to see the llamas, they are often more interested in the chickens. Two boys that came to visit, got inside the coop and caught chickens so they could pet them.

Chloe, a friend's daughter, asked me to catch a chicken so she could pet one. The poor child got in trouble at the beach that summer when she was telling family members that she went to a farm where she could pet llamas and chickens. They accused her of lying and her mother had to let them know that Chloe was telling the truth.

My friend's son and my nephew can turn a Silkie upside down and rub its chest until it falls asleep. It is rather amazing to see.

Another friend inherited her hens from a friend who was relocating and could not take them with her. They were raised completely as pets. The eggs are just a bonus.

Currently, we have two roosters that have become my favorites. Their names are Fred and Ricky. They reside in the llama barn in the backyard, away from the chicken coop.

Fred and Ricky stand outside the garage door and wait for their breakfast. If I'm running late or sleeping in, they crow outside the bedroom window to ensure I know they're waiting. When I pull up the driveway in the evenings, they run to greet me and ask for dinner. In the middle of the night, I can hear one of them crow and all the roosters from the neighboring farms can be heard in a distance answering his call.

Fred and Ricky are good pals with our alpha male llama . They snuggle up to him in the winter to stay warm. The male that shares the pasture with the alpha males chases Fred and Ricky. He's just playing. He thinks it's a nice alternative to playing with the other llama. Male llama games often end like those of children - with one one party getting tired of the game and kickin' the other party's butt.

Ricky has even been spotted perching on the alpha male's back a couple of times. Gosh, I wish I could get a good photo of that!

At one time every egg the hens hatched was a rooster. That's when we decided to relocate a few here at the house. We tried several times before we managed to get two roosters to stay here - free range. The problem was when the alpha male llama's companion started playing chase the chickens. One rooster always ran into the woods rather toward the house and under the fence. We're not sure if those roosters got lost, went exploring or became dinner for an opossum, owl or some other wild critter.

Initially, Fred was called Chicken No. 1. As Chicken No. 2 disappeared into the woods, we'd introduce Chicken No. 3 and so forth. I think Ricky was Chicken No. 4 or 5. We received a report that one of the numbered chickens showed up at a neighbor's house down the street.

I was sad when Popeye died. Prior to his death, Popeye Jr. was hatched, who is still alive today. That eased the loss of Popeye Sr. a bit. It was sad when Rocky passed as well as several others. But, when Fred and Ricky go, I admit it....I'm going to need a bereavement day.