In Defense of Roosters

The Eggacy Lives On

2009-03-06T15:14:00.000-08:00

The phone rang, I answered and all I heard was peep, peep, peep, a crank call? No way, it was code for "the chicks are here"! ChickenDad was on his way home from the hatchery with the children, I hurried out to the yard with my closest approximation to a baby blanket to greet them. OMG! Little adorables but this time I would be their Mom. Seven Sweet little red chicks…Seedmother was in love again.
I got out a towel and laid it out on the grass for the new babies, I thought we could snuggle a bit but they instinctively knew where the grass was and went for it immediately. I must admit I felt a bit rejected when I saw that they were much more interested in pecking little bugs on the lawn than being with their loving mother. I had been idealizing some tender Madonna & child moments like these.

Eventually, they would come to accept me. Still, what mother's heart wouldn't swell with love watching her child peacefully drift off under her protective gaze?

The Frankencage

2009-03-04T12:13:00.000-08:00

There was an old, corroded aluminum storage shed on the property and after careful consideration, John decided that it would be the best site for the chicken coop. So he razed the old structure at much personal discomfort and prepared the space and materials to start laying out the physical structure.
It was a race because the babies were on their way.
There were some old tent supports left over from a swap meet endeavor by our (wonderfully supportive, as it turns out) landlord and he gave us the go ahead to use them. I could smell the wood burning as John schemed out the design while he was clearing the land every night after work. Mostly he used scraps from the yard, he bought very little actually, and bit by bit both the garden and chicks' new digs were framed in. Since I had made the error of admitting I once used to sew, I was commandeered to help stitch the chicken wire and tent poles into a cat/rat/mongoose proof configuration. Hard work but it finally came together. When it was done it looked kinda baggy like my sweats after a hard workout. It won't ever appear in Architectual Digest but a safe, practical, serviceable home for egg-laying hens nonetheless.

Chickendad

2008-07-12T16:15:00.000-07:00

I'd always called jokingly called John "Chickendad" and now that we had this place, he immediately planned our new family by heading over to the local hatchery and ordering 6 Highlines, 6 Ameraucanas (hybrids of Araucanas), 6 Cornish (meat birds), a quail and a pheasant, the latter two to indulge my visual sensibilities and substitute for my lost roosters. They would arrive in 6 weeks so he was driven to get their home built.

It never would have gotten done if John wasn't the most ambitious, brute strength, tenacious procurer of foodstuffs ever born. His entire existence is centered on keeping the fridge stuffed. He pawed the earth, licked his chops, rubbed his hands together till they started smoking and got down to business.

From a strictly visual standpoint, I've always enjoyed the results of John's 3X a week weight lifting habit and now his commitment to lifting was about to pay off big time. Even though he was very well equipped to deal with this project, it turned out to be no small job even for a guy who lifts pianos for entertainment. There was 20 years worth of old rotting construction materials symbiotically lashed together with 20 years of prolific vine growth. Within that tangled mess he extricated a bath tub, a hot tub, a tombstone, a generation of kid's toys, a brigade of really cool flat sided red buckets, tires and even uncovered an old street sweeper!! No kidding.

Creating "Costco"

2009-03-04T11:54:00.001-08:00

Chickendad seemed on a mission to create his own personal "Costco" to supply all of our food needs, protein in the form of eggs and (Seedmother is not quite ready for this one yet, but yeah, birds for meat) And lots of greens and veggies from the garden. He was driven by the thought of having all that food on hand to single handedly, plow through those mountains of ruins and vine. He bought a chipper to process the vines and created a huge heap of refined golden mulch, added chicken poop (store bought for starters) and wrapped it all up in a tarp to cook. He organized the debris to be repurposed for construction projects.
In record time he liberated a 30X80 ft. area of the most fertile, rain forest leaf drop, composted soil you've ever seen. Gorgeous black stuff full of earthworms, centipedes, beetles and other bug protein. Three weeks under a tarp to sterilize it and the gardens would be ready to plant.

Where was Seedmother? Peeling mangos…

Mangos from Heaven

2008-09-04T22:37:00.001-07:00

The new house was situated under a mango tree that was having a rather good season evidenced by the continual bam, splat, fruit war sounds coming from the roof. John couldn't bear all that food becoming useless mush and climbed up on the roof everyday with a pole picker trying to save them from going gooshey and also to insure that we would enjoy tropical smoothies for the rest of the summer. Mmmmmmmmm…

He also dug and planted a small temporary lettuce/arugula patch to sustain us until the heavy work could be completed and the real garden could go in. We were eating from it's bounty in two weeks! As they say about Hawaii, plant and stand back with a hatchet…

Eggstatic

2008-07-03T13:03:00.001-07:00

After looking at many disappointing, overpriced apartments and hot, dingy little houses on busy streets our collective karma (John's, mine, our dog Licky and John's son Shaun, the basketball guy and Licky's best friend) kicked in and we found the most magical little house by a dry stream with a very large yard. Room enough (with the landlord's permission) to have a garden!! And keep Licky! And chickens, just hens, no roosters! Every one was happy.

The price? We'd have to clear the surrounds to make it happen. John immediately got to work preparing the way while I tried to get over losing my chickens by writing this story and mooning over my thousands of chicken pictures & the memories I carried of our Moa family. I'd spent the last 6 months totally immersed in a series of Moa paintings and had studied them intimately everyday…their life was my life. Gosh, I wondered if they missed Seedmother like I missed them, they were always waiting on the front steps when I came out in the morning…Sigh…

The paintings were all gone to the gallery and I was alone.

We left our Gallus gallus behind but I needed to focus on starting a new little family with G. gallus domesticus. Cheer up Seedmother, new chicks were coming but much had to be done first.

Separating Eggs

2008-07-02T11:59:00.000-07:00

We had to move. It was a disaster, what about the chickens?

That I had bonded with them in reality, probably mattered less to them (except for the seeds) than to me. They were, after all, wild chickens who belonged to the forest. But I was tortured nevertheless over being separated from them. I thought of capturing Sola and the chicks and bringing them along but as John pointed out, it would be so unfair to them.

What about Rusty? Well, he would stay and help protect Sola, besides the forest was full of food, they really didn't need to depend on our largess at all to survive. And our new neighbors whoever they turned out to be certainly wouldn't appreciate him. I tossed and turned every night.

What about the chicks? Well, they were getting to be teenagers, less than a month away from emancipation, think of how they've grown. Their flight feathers were in, and they were roosting up in the guava trees at night. They were well past the mongoose vulnerability stage. In fact, they were so able to take care of themselves they were stealing cat food from the old cat on the property, she was scared to death of them.

This would be really hard, logic demanded that I had to let go of chicken life. But my heart & mind were scrambled.

The Ladies' Grey

2008-06-25T12:14:00.000-07:00

They were the duchesses of the yard. They stayed together most of the time and would behave just like the proverbial cackling old dowagers. They formed the core of hen society and were the conduit of most of the underlying political gossip around the yard. The roosters protected them so they could enjoy the status and privilege they somehow granted. I think they must have had somebody's secret.

Red & White

2008-06-12T13:42:00.000-07:00

Some of our chickens turned out to have this beautiful coloration. Some gene combination caused it but only in the roosters, I never saw a hen painted like this. Probably an alliance between the red jungle fowl and a domestic white variety that wandered off into the forest for some adventure.

Our two were Irving and Gimpy. They were similar in appearance but their personalities couldn't have been more different. Gimpy, so named, because a fight with Henry left him lame. He was a cranky old man with a bad attitude and very aggressive.

Irving was originally Ivory as she was pure white as a chick. We changed it to Irving when it became obvious the she was a he. The alternative name was Freckles, which I vetoed. Irving was a very sweet, gentle type. Rusty ran him off early on so he could have Sola to himself and Irving seemed to accept the periphery of the flock as his place. I always made sure he got seeds though, because he just didn't want to fight and after all, I was the great Seedmother and he was my child.

Lucy, the Redhead

2008-06-19T18:20:00.001-07:00

She was a redhead and she reminded me of Lucille Ball with her glamorous and kinda ditzy comedic demeanor. For a while, everyday she would lay an egg in the mailbox then in the afternoon when I brought out seeds she would absent mindedly forget her duty and come out to peck. That would allow me to harvest her egg. She never seemed to catch on, she would hop back up and cock her head to one side as if to say, "now, where did that egg go?"

Flyboys

2008-05-17T12:46:00.001-07:00

Roosters fly…but not unless they have to. I've never seen them flying around just for the pure pleasure of it as you or I surely would if we had the ability. They seem to reserve flying for emergencies or to press a competitive advantage in finding dinner.

Out of the dozen or so roosters in our yard only Rusty, Irving and Juantu figured out that flying up on the wall was the best place in town for a good filling meal. They were my Flyboys. I would shake the peanut can and they would fly up with voracious enthusiasm but they weren't into dining together in a peaceful, congenial manner as I would have liked so I could get my shot. This spot was reserved for a solo experience. Even though I would keep dishing out the seeds and there was plenty for all, they would fight over who got the spot. They would play "knock the other guy off the wall" and then gorge themselves as fast as they could before the next guy flew up and "did unto them".

I don't know why the others never caught on, they would just look up and wonder, hmmmmmm…I guess they were chicken.

Rambo and Guido

2008-05-23T21:39:00.000-07:00

They were brothers, or rather, they were from the same nest. One can never know with our gregarious, heterozygotic gallus gallus. The hens lay in each others' nests and the guys, well, they are guys. So we never know. At any rate Guido and Rambo were virtually identical except that Rambo had little dark tips on each of his neck feathers. Most attractive, in my opinion. Guido was gorgeous too, shiny and fiery, and they both met with more than enough approval from the chicks, that is, when Henry wasn't looking. I loved watching them strut around posturing for the hens. They got more than their share of adolescent action but apparently the joke was on them.

Juantu

2008-06-04T19:48:00.001-07:00

We fancied that he was Juan's son, they looked almost identical and to honor Juan's legacy we wanted to carry on the name. I later started calling him Juantu Greensleeves for obvious reasons. I started thinking of him a madrigal singer or poet as he stayed back from the crowd and seemed sensitive and dreamy. He was so gentle and never got into confrontations. Soon he took up with one of the Ladies' Grey and they went off by themselves to the lower yard. Juantu and his Lady would come up for dinner and Juantu would hit the wall for a few extra seeds but then they'd take off together down the road. I fancied that they were deeply in love.

Henry, portrait of a Patriarch.

2008-06-02T18:10:00.000-07:00

He offered the hens something, apparently, none of the other guys could. He was pretty at one time but now had only one working eye left, full comb, huge spurs & libido (I'm not sure if there is a connection) and a big, big mouth. Protection for the ladies was his game and he never let them down. He would strut around and keep the other roosters from success while the hens were…er…in the position. Occasionally, one of the young cockerels would dare to take liberties but Henry was right on it.

Carmen

2008-06-01T15:03:00.000-07:00

I really respond visually to those handsome roosters and would spend hours feasting my eyes on their splendiferous garb and the way the sun illuminates their colorful robes.

But I really should not overlook mentioning the subtle beauty of the hens. Carmen was a very aloof hen, she wouldn't come anywhere near me and only got seeds that landed on the periphery of my throwing radius. She wore the most exquisite black and coppery/gold ensemble. When she turned at an angle to the light her shoulders would light up a shimmering peacock blue—so refined! She was stunning but never gaudy. Her legs were iridescent silver, now one must be truly possessed of understated elegance to get away with that!

Firebirds

2008-05-11T16:21:00.001-07:00

Politics and power are the basis of the socio/economic structure of chicken life. There is one dictatorial cock with big spurs who rules the roost, in our yard it's Henry. The hens stay in alignment with his protection policies (sexual favors and furthering his line) as long as he continues to assert his dominance. If he doesn't prevail in a confrontation and gets wounded, he loses status and the chicks find someone new.

Henry has maintained the strongman position even though it's cost him and eye and a brother. Juan, the poor devil, tried to go up against his own nest mate and he was so defeated and bedraggled he just went off into the forest and we never saw him again.

The young cockerels are continually testing each other in practice sparring until the day one feels ready to attempt a coup. We've seen some good roosters go down. Gimpy and Guido both ended up lame from cockfights and others have been banished to the hinterlands in ignominy, others form into splinter groups and insurgents.

Henry must ever be up for the challenge.

Moa Love

2008-05-03T19:18:00.001-07:00

Oh, how the chicken class resembles our own species' mating game. The guys are expected to put on a good show for the ladies. Rooster plumage is the human equivalent of being good looking, rich and driving a Lamborghini — it shows in the clothes. Although I've seen human ladies who will accept a guy with raggedy plumage "IF" he's got expensive accouterments!

Beneath the show is desire but the game has rules. He's got to perform before he's allowed to, er, perform.

The hen pretends not to notice how gorgeous he is but believe me, she is recording every detail. She feigns a preoccupation with seedpecking but she has the corner of her eye trained on Mr. Beautiful and she makes sure her tail is held in a provocative posture.

He's got an eye cocked in her direction as well, and circles her perimeter in a centripetal spiral that leads him closer to his mark with each lap. He lowers one shoulder and drags his wing on the ground as he side steps into her personal space. Then he makes his move…and then…well, it's all over, I'm talking 45 seconds! Anticlimactic is an understatement, for human ladies, this could be good or bad…depending on one's inner motive.

Rusty's Redemption and Seedmother Learns about Heteropaternal Superfecundation!

2008-04-27T14:29:00.000-07:00

It seemed to me that after Sola brought those chicks out, Rusty underwent a personality change, some epiphany had transformed him. He seemed to take a singular interest in his Sis and the kids. At first I just thought he was hanging around with them to get an extra portion of seeds but I began to notice that he wasn't really eating, he certainly wasn't competing with the chicks for food, he was just sort of standing watch. He even brought over a few twigs and placed them in front of the little family, they even sunbathed and dirt dusted together.

I started jokingly calling him Uncle Rusty Pinklegs, he seemed so sweet and tolerant of his nieces and nephews. One day during a mongoose attack, I ran out and he was next to Sola sounding off the emergency warning system right alongside her.

How sweet, I thought…how brotherly…how avuncular…wait…a…minute…yikes…are those chicks…ooooh…but…they're bro…she's his Sis…whoa, wait a minute…

First Flight

2008-04-24T18:26:00.000-07:00

This episode speaks entirely for itself!

Survival of the Fastest & Most Obedient

2008-04-22T16:15:00.001-07:00

We've watched many generations of chicks come and go during our time in the Ko‘olau rain forest and it's always sad as we watch mother nature perform her dispassionate balancing act.

The mongoose in Hawaii were brought in by some brilliant interloper to control the rat population but who apparently didn't consider the fact that rats are nocturnal and mongoose work during the day. They coexist quite agreeably and both have proliferated beyond control. Rats are disgusting enough but mongoose engage in a despicable practice, they suck eggs and eat little chicks and other small birds — most uncivilized. They have devastated the native bird species, evil little weasels! If there is a chicken boogeyman, it's the mongoose.

It's typical for Moa hens to hatch out up to 14 or 15 chicks, the hen will parade the "adorables" around, showing them off and teaching them their lessons. But every morning there will be one or two chicks missing. They usually end up with four or less that mature.

The hen and chicks stay connected by means of a sonic beeping system, the chicks peep continually and the hen emits a constant cluck that keeps the family together. When there is a threat the hen will stand up at attention with her neck stretched out and everyone shuts up. The chicks huddle together and wait for her instructions. If the attack is real she sounds the alarm and everyone scatters in different directions, ingenious really. One might get hit, like poor little Chester but the scattering ensures that there will be survivors. She will actually sacrifice herself to save the kids.

After the horror is over the hen resumes her clucking and all the chicks peep loudly and rejoin her one by one. They come from every direction. She takes the first arrivals along with her as she hunts to recover the rest. If she can hear them, she'll get them back.

Chester

2008-04-20T20:26:00.000-07:00

I finally accepted that Sola wasn't going to let me do anything more than be the seedmom from a distance…so I reluctantly accepted her chicken wisdom and stayed back. However, those chicks were never wanting for seeds.

But life is cruel even for the innocent. A true life drama over the next day presented me with a moral dilemma. We heard the chicken alarm and ran outside to find that one of the hatchlings had been attacked by a mongoose and was badly injured and I had to sit by and watch nature work it's harsh justice.
Poor little chick was stunned and couldn't get up so I put him on a cool green ap‘e leaf so he could die in peace. They rarely recover but amazingly after a few hours he was able to hop on one leg. It was pitiful watching him try to keep up with Sola and the brood. I kept coaxing her near him with seeds so he wouldn't have to work so hard. Finally he learned to follow her clucking and I thought he might be ok but then I saw her, along with the other chicks, pecking him mercilessly. Then she started picking him up in her beak and tossing him. Poor little guy, just kept hopping after her. Tragic nature.
I named him Chester (from Gunsmoke). We've tried saving injured chicks before, they always seem to die overnight. I was so torn, I could have possibly saved him from his Mom but he never would have been able to take care of himself. We listened to his pitiful peeping under the house until dark…now he's gone, we won't ever know how he died. Poor little Chester, I hope he went peacefully.

Rusty Pinklegs

2008-04-17T20:47:00.000-07:00

He was by far the most troublesome and charming manchicken! I couldn't keep my eyes off him, he was so uncommonly handsome and had just "that way" of looking at you from under his jaunty comb. And he was a big problem.

Before the kids came, John & I had enjoyed casually hanging out with and occasionally serving lunch to the local chickens on the outskirts of the yard but in the case of Rusty, our nurturing turned out to be a big mistake, I blame it all on love, animal love.

In spite of being reared by a foreign, non-species family and spoiled rotten…and…having delicate pastel pink legs, Rusty grew up big and strong with a heroic rooster ethic that instinctively drove him to claim the space under the house (right below our place of rest) as his domain. I was all in favor of this territorial acquisition as I thought "the kids" would be safer and started feeding them there so they wouldn't have to risk the dangers of the jungle and those vicious, nasty mongoose to find food. He, Sista Sola and Irving became inseparable in their sanctuary.
But once Rusty started crowing, "RRRRR" things changed. As he found his voice and his confidence grew, he added more syllables, "this is mine, this is all mine" and insisted on broadcasting right under the house below our bed. John regarded this with disfavor but temporarily indulged my maternal reasoning and was mildly tolerant.

So enamored with him, and protective, I would actually leave the bed, before my time, before my coffee! before he started his morning braggadocio, to get his peanut can and coax him for a walk down the road in an attempt keep silence until the menfolk awakened. He'd follow me anywhere for what was in that peanut can, he craved seeds and was accustomed to having his meals paid for. I think he understood that I would not allow any act of aggression toward him and he felt safe under the aegis of my devotion.
As with all pampered pets, his higher instincts began to degenerate and his base instincts started taking over. He became so cocky that he started inviting the other hens in from the yard for crumbs and other fowl fun. Older women who really belonged to Henry. He became a debauched party boy. Irving hung on for a while but Rusty eventually drove him off. And sadly Sola just disappeared.

The place became a political catastrophe. Gimpy, the old lame cockadoodler started challenging him with bloodcurdling objections to Rusty's feathered arrogance. Henry, the gruff, one-eyed dominant patriarch of the outer yard, and keeper of most of the hens became so peeved he would just march into Rusty's den of iniquity and conduct a strident "crow off" in an attempt to reclaim his girls and take Rusty's confidence down. It didn't work, they'd reluctantly return to him but the minute he wasn't paying attention, they'd sneak under the house for more fun with the young and virile Rusty. Juantu, Rambo and Guido, young cockerels, admired his reproductive virtuosity, and were eager to get in on it. They cheered him on vociferously from the sidelines like chicken spectators at a Roman orgy. The din was outrageous, it was a cacophony of deafening proportions! Rusty needed to be dealt with.

Well, as you might imagine, this exacerbated the situation with the man I sleep with (or rather, sleep next to, he wasn't sleeping) and the man's immediate descendant, both of whom had various "ultimate solutions" for Mr. Pinklegs. They advised me to let go, Rusty was old enough to take care of himself, not a chick anymore, etc., and they reminded me that they were both very good shots. A rift was growing between us as Rusty Rooster was stealing my affections and loyalty and I was desperate.

I hated being a cheat but I passionately loved him, I was abjectly possessive, he was MY rooster, he had PINK LEGS! But I couldn't go on much longer during dinner pretending, "A noise, what kind of noise? I didn't hear anything".

In a disingenuous attempt at a diversion, I even convinced John it was all Gimpy's fault. So one afternoon we packed him off into the forest where we hike. Oh! did he give me a toxic look as he hobbled off into the deep jungle after being released from his rubber band leg irons and liberated from John's backpack. I felt like a skunk, but I still had Rusty! It kept on, getting more and more complex and out of control. Eventually I was forced to admit we (er,…I) had a serious problem. I knew there would be a war and I was in the middle of a poultry love triangle.

Defending Roosters

2008-04-15T23:54:00.000-07:00

Roosters start bragging about their various masculine attributes at 4:00 a.m. so they get a lot of criticism and death threats from the neighbors and other members of the household.

But I staunchly defend them—my beautiful dandies.

The hens think it's pretty impressive that they are so articulate at that hour so they ruffle up and bend over to show their petticoats (and whoa! sometimes much more) and pretty much do everything they can to encourage it. I'm in complete agreement with the hens as I think the boys show ambition and a readiness to get down to the job of protecting and providing but mostly —— being attractive. By the time the sun is up they are all preened and looking just gorgeous. I try to be out there bright and early to take their portraits while they are fresh and gleaming. I have seeds of many colors to encourage cooperative behavior.

Also, coercing them to associate with me, I feel I must protect them from the sleep craving basketball players who have been up all night playing WOW and talking scat on myspace. They really want to wring their necks and stew them but I assure them that I would cry and carry on and make their lives not worth living.

So I keep my roosterboys reasonably safe from becoming comestibles.

The "Preppies"

2008-04-16T19:55:00.000-07:00

Rusty came to us along with Wingtip, Sista Sola and Irving on July Fourth last summer.

Their Mom, Goldie had 25! eggs under her thanks to the other opportunistic hens in the yard. After number 8 hatched she cackled "Enough!" and proceeded to peck the newest little black chick and throw it out of the mailbox, then jumped ship with the lucky first borns. It's true they nested in the mailbox!

John, the man I am pair bonded to, brought the little abandoned peeper in "just to show me" and of course, we had to save it, being the compassionate saps we are. We got a little box, and I naively suggested, "well, just bring all the eggs in, they probably won't even hatch".

I was astonished that eggs start peeping before they actually break through! We ended up hatching out 5 eggs of the 17 orphaned egglings in our bedroom before they dried up. John actually performed a little chicken caesarian section and peeled a couple of them right out of their shells. We did lose most (thank god) they just went inert. Two were murdered, another story, the remaining three became our beloved little chicken kids.
We came to refer to them as "the adorables", we doted & spoiled them to the point that they refused to associate with the rest of the flock. We fed them a special high protein diet of fresh cockroaches, and delicacies from the table. We jokingly called them "Private School Kids", "Preppies". Elitist chicks with a sense of entitlement who insisted on living under the house right below the bedroom where they were born, well, hatched. They just wouldn't move out!

Sista Sola

2008-04-18T23:42:00.000-07:00

She was the sweetest baby hen and the most hungry. No matter where she was in the yard when I shook the peanut can she would come running. She was the smartest and almost always got the morning cockroach which was delivered in a yogurt container to whoever was the fastest. She and Rusty were the only chickens who would would let me touch them but she alone would hop up into my lap looking for seeds. I was devastated when she turned up missing.

Irv was chased off and joined up with Henry's group after Rusty had become incorrigible and Sola, I supposed, was just mortified at how he had besmirched the family, well she was gone. The other hens, Goldie, Queenie, Penny, the Ladies Grey (4 0f them), Lucy (the redhead), Carmen (gorgeous black and gold), were beautiful and all but they just couldn't fill the gap, I missed my Sista!

Imagine my delight when John came home one day and announced that he knew where she was! "Where?" "Just come outside, look under the house".
OMG!!!!!! There she was with 12 little puff balls! She was looking so proud, and had definitely changed into a fully developed chicken woman! I was beside myself, I immediately forgot my obsession with Rusty and settled into being a doting Auntie. They were adorable!! More adorables, Oh joy! And I had an automatic "in" with them, after all, Sola was my Sis.
But wait, not so fast, as I bent over, all of a sudden she puffed up to three times her normal width and shrieked, "hands off", these are mine! "Whoa! But Sis"…she wouldn't hear it, "back off seedmutha", you can look but no touché, understand, yeah?