Part One: The Rooster Story (With Some Additional Hens)
Hello everyone! Instead of your average lady called “Nina,” it’s me Sam (Nina’s son)! Today I’m gonna tell you our rooster story.
Our first ever rooster was Tikki (also known as Tikki Tikki Tembo-no Sa Rembo-chari Bari Ruchi-pip Peri Pembo). We got Tikki from one of our friends. Her name was Wendy. She also gave us our first hens: Hoppy, Tan France, and Ellebe. But I’m focusing on roosters. Not hens.
Tikki was a normal rooster but he definitely did not know that many kids, because when we first got him it took him a while to adapt being around children a lot. He has attacked me and my baby sister a couple times… I actually remember one time when he attacked me. I was like 5 years old (I’m currently almost 9).
Ever since we moved to our farm, I knew I wanted chickens. When some friends moved out of state, they pleaded with us to take their chickens (they were especially certain that Hoppy, with her permanently dislocated leg joint, would end up in someone else’s stew pot). So we were forced to move up our chicken (and horse!) timetable a bit.
And since Tikki was part of the package, I also had “the rooster decision” made for me—something I had hemmed and hawed about. Now, I can’t imagine not having a roo (or, ahem, four…or five…).
One time I was standing near Tikki and he started walking towards me. In case you didn’t know, I was afraid of Tikki back then. I knew if I moved I’d get attacked by him. So I just stood there watching him slowly creep towards me. I thought he was going to leave me alone…but then…he pecked me. It didn’t really hurt but I was kind of freaking out. When he finally walked away, I ran over to mom. I told her what happened but that’s all I remember.
Tikki, the daddy.
Having a rooster turned out to be a good opportunity for my kids to build both their animal communication skills and their confidence. The vast majority of the time, Tikki (a Bantam Cochin) is friendly and gentle. He looks after his hens and breaks up their squabbles. But there were a few times, in the beginning, that he flew at the kids and even once slashed Sam’s leg with his ample spurs.
We talked about the fact that he was only protecting his hens from a perceived threat, like fast-moving or loud children. They had to learn to move in a non-predatory way, to give all the chickens lots of treats, and (perhaps most importantly) pick themselves up and go right back in after an encounter. Eventually, Tikki learned to trust them and they learned about the benefits of patience and persistence.
A little later, one of our hens had laid a couple of eggs. My mom gave her a combination of seven eggs from different hens to sit on. Only five of them hatched, but that’s still a lot of chickens! So after seeing five cute little chicks running around for a while, we figured out that 4 of our chicks were roosters! We couldn’t have five roosters in our chicken area! But I’m going a little far ahead…
Farb, “The Goth.”
Ellebe, our most reliable broody, had tried to hatch her own eggs the previous two years. The first year she had two that only lived for one day, which is how I learned that new babies and their mom need a separate, safe space from the rest of the flock. The second year the eggs she sat on turned out not to be fertilized, which was how I learned to candle eggs to make sure they were developing properly.
Both years, Ellebe glady accepted some very young “adoptees” to raise instead. Last summer, though, we were better prepared with everything we had learned…and determined to hatch some genetic babies. Little did we know how “unfortunate” the gender split would be…
To be continued! Are you ready for suspense? Drama? Action? Bloodshed? Then read The Rooster Story: Rooster Rising. Get your copy on Marjorie Farm & Forage!
Part Two: Rooster Rising
So… you’re back for more, eh? Well get ready for the ultimate story. After our chicks hatched, we were thinking of doing what we normally do when we hatch chicks: we would put them in a box. Well I don’t mean literally. The first time we hatched some chicks, mom came up with the idea for where to put them. Because these chickens were only like a day old! And we couldn’t have them roaming around because they were so tiny! So she came up with a solution to make a wood box to put them in. We never had to make a second or third box because we kept reusing that one box. So mom put the chicks in the box. She also put Ellbe in, because she was their mom.
Chewie, the stunner. A gentle giant and de facto leader.
One of the most useful things I’ve done for our flock was to build a small (2ft. x 2ft.) cage in the corner of the coop with a wood frame and hardware cloth. It has both a hinged wooden lid (for easy placing and removal of temporary inhabitants) and a door on the side (for when said inhabitants are allowed to roam freely again).
Not only is this the perfect solution for keeping broody hens and new hatches safe, but it has also been infinitely useful for sick or recovering birds who need some extra “quiet time.” It allows for them to remain with their flock—familiar sights, sounds, and smells keep them calm—and also for the flock not to “forget” about them which can cause unrest upon their re-entry.
Eventually they grew up a little. That’s when we started guessing what gender they were going to be. The names we gave our chicks were: Chewie (dad’s name), Farb (my sister’s name), Fiver (Mom’s name), Kylo (Mom’s name), and Fudgie (my name). Finally, we let them out of the box to start roaming around. One morning when mom was going out to say hello, CHEWIE CROWED.
Part Three: The Final Decision
We couldn’t have them in the rooster box anymore. They were getting too big. They were fighting. We couldn’t have five roosters! So that’s when we started discussing what to do with them. Mom had a couple options:
We could kill them and eat them. Well that just made me cry.
We could give them away to some people that needed roosters. I didn’t like that either.
So her final option was that we could keep them in a bachelor flock. I said yes, but mom said the problem with that one was that it would cost a lot of money to buy supplies.
(Secret option: we could buy a flock of chickens for each rooster. But that would mean we’d have 50 chickens! So that was an instant ticket to nope town.)
Mom was thinking about giving them away, but I said “Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!!!” So we went with putting them in a bachelor flock. But how were we supposed to get another coop!? That’s when my grandma (Mimi) chimed in. She bought us a coop and it was actually a pretty good size!
Fiver, a nice replica of his dad.
Starting a bachelor flock wasn’t even on my radar when we decided to hatch our own chicks—but then, I never could have guessed that four out of five would be roosters! I’ve read about higher percentages of roos hatching from broody hens as opposed to incubators, but I’m not sure I buy it.
Whatever the reason, at about 3 months old (well after mama Ellebe had kicked them of of the nest, as it were) the boys were starting to get a little randy. I knew we’d have to make a decision quickly or they’d end up hurting some of the hens or each other. It was an uncomfortable choice, but I’ve come to embrace the way that farm life forces you to examine your values…and fast!
And it’s not just me who has to do moral gymnastics in these situations—I love that the roosters helped Sam flex those muscles too. He was very clear about where he stood on the issue, and now feels proud and protective of “the men” he helped save.
We started setting up the new rooster coop. We kept them over at the other coop while mom put up the hawk net and all that other stuff. And she also put in lots of entertainment! Like a chair, some hay bales, and some little stumps! She also put in some big sticks for them to climb on. She even put lettuce leaves on the sticks so the roosters could gnaw at them.
Then, one night, she said she was going to move the roosters over to the other coop. I said that I wanted to help, and that’s why I was freezing my ass off for an hour! After that experience, I plopped down on my bed and passed out.
So far, our roosters are inquisitive, beautiful, hilarious, and incredibly people-oriented. They have distinctive personalities (and crows!). And if something ever happens to Tikki, we’ll have “an heir and a spare” to bring into the main layer flock as needed. I’m really glad we chose to keep them.
I read, asked for, and received lots of advice on how to maintain a happy and healthy rooster flock. I have many tips to share, but will wait to do so until we’re through their supposedly forthcoming “first spring” hormonal surge. Things are going swimmingly right now, but I don’t want to get…well…cocky.
And that was pretty much our whole history of roosters! Except one time when mom went over there KYLO WAS MISSING. She freaked out and tried to find him. She was about to give up when she saw a little red comb sticking out from under a bush. She ran over there an picked up Kylo. She brought him inside to warm up. I’d like to say that my story ends here but Kylo escaped again. And again. And again. So she just um… did something and Kylo stopped escaping!
Kylo, the escape artist.
“Did something.” Don’t you just love it when your parents “do something” and the problem magically goes away? Except…no. While I did put up a hawk net over the rooster enclosure and spent hours stringing criss-crossed fishing line across the one corner the net didn’t reach, the truth is: Kylo still escaped a few times after that.
I really think he just hadn’t quite transitioned to the new coop being “home” yet. Aside from the first escape when I found him cowering under a snowy bush in the woods, I’d find him pacing the fenceline across the yard at the other chicken enclosure. I think we hit a turning point on his last escape, though, when he was instead pacing outside the fenceline of his own enclosure. He hasn’t escaped since, and I hope it stays that way…especially when the aforementioned spring hormones kick in.
So you probably think that was pretty crazy, right? Tell us in the comment section below! The end. Goodbye. I’m sorry if you liked me and you don’t want me to go. But…I must leave. DON’T MISS SOME OTHER BLOGS BY ME! See ya!
Yep, I love my kid. Even more than the roosters.
