By Harold Brummett

Star Denmark Route

 

There are four roosters on our farm. Lots of hens and four roosters. The chickens provide plenty of eggs and most of the time we have some to share. 

There are many different breeds on the farm of course, but last year we bought Leghorn chicks. The chicks were supposed to be all female. That was not the case. The cartoon character Foghorn Leghorn was a Leghorn bird. These chickens are the most curious birds I have ever owned and their antics remind me of the cartoon character.  

I cannot leave the truck door (or window) open or they will fly in and look around. I have found them on the seat, on the dash, on the steering wheel and in the floorboard, they know no bounds. If I leave the garage door open, they will come in, walk around and inspect the contents. In my coal forge they will make a nest out of the coal turning the white eggs a dingy shade of gray. The girls are constantly on the lookout for new places to nest, turning every day into Easter. 

They walk the porch at the house looking in windows and doors. The birds dust bathe in the barn hall and wallow out holes that are the right size and depth to twist an ankle. The holes require constant repair. The girls lay eggs in the horse hay tubs, which the horses find unappetizing. Chickens are constantly looking in, around and about the farm like tourists. The birds take full advantage of being free-range birds. Their curiosity is constant and generally unrestrained. 

Wesley the farm dog does a good job of keeping predators at bay but the coyotes, coons, bobcats, possums, skunks, snakes, hawks and owls put constant pressure on the flock.  Every night the chickens are locked up but I have seen possums chew through inch boards to make a hole big enough to slip in and have a meal. Rarely a bobcat will occasionally brave a daylight raid to get a bird that has strayed too far into the woods. Hawks call out their presence to see the ground-bound chickens run for cover and every now and then the hawk will strike.    

I have learned to refrain from naming the birds. It seems once a name is given then that particular bird doesn’t have long to live. Since I have an abundance of Roosters, most of them carry a name. First, there is Bubba. I got this rooster from my sister who did not have room for him. I owned Bubba’s father and both were Goliaths of the chickens. 

Bubba has a modified pea comb that looks like he has had a crew cut instead of the usual upright comb. He is big, and parades around the farm like the regal character he is. Bubba stands and walks upright, head erect with waddles that hang way down. The farm is his kingdom. 

Stumpy is as short as Bubba is tall. He has a beautiful upright bearing and  short back that only accentuates his high arching black and white tail feathers. Stumpy’s short legs requires him to be more determined with the long legged leghorn ladies who can easily outpace him whenever he gets in a romantic mood. Stumpy is a frustrated lover and not a fighter.

Sparky is a young rooster who has decided to peck the hands that feed him. He has made attack runs at my wife and daughter leading to the loss of the majority of his spurs. My wife who is a farrier carries a full complement of accoutrements to shoe and trim horses so an errant rooster is no match for a rasp that will disarm him of his most formidable weapons. 

Junior is a teenage rooster. I watch him as he gets into moods and splays out his neck feathers when there is no one else around. He will be on the roost, no one near him and out of nowhere go into his mad teen routine. No doubt, the day is coming when he feels ready to challenge Sparky or maybe Bubba if he really is an idiot. 

Chickens are livestock and I know that. They provide meat and eggs (although on my place the chance of getting the axe is slim) and most of all entertainment. 

The cat, dogs, birds, horses, chickens and guineas all live together on the farm and this is as it should be. Perhaps there is a broader lesson here to be learned.