When you stand over the bin of chicks at the farm stores, the sign above it says you have a 90% chance of having a pullet. Most of the time that’s really good odds and totally worth the gamble.
We brought our day old chicks home and held them and loved them, told them stories, marveled at how they grew and counted our eggs before they were laid.
Blender, a Plymouth barred rock.
On all of the Facebook pages you read about how to tell if you have a pullet or cockerel and you are just sure, absolutely positive beyond a doubt that you have eggs on the way.
The 10% alarm clock
And then, you know for sure when the alarm clock sounds. There ain’t gonna be any eggs and the neighbors are gonna be irritated.
Karen and I are early birds. Sleeping in is 6:05 am every morning. I loved the sound of the rooster in the early hours. Sadly, we live in city limits and there are rules. No roosters.
I’m all about stretching and bending and pulling and pushing the rules, but I am also aware at how hard our city worked to allow backyard chickens. At the first complaint, we knew we had to do something.
Portrait of a rooster.
We brought him in at night. He is a great protector of his ladies and taking him away felt terrible. He complied however, nestled in a dog kennel in the extra bedroom he slept soundly through the night and in the morning when the alarm clock sounded, I would smile and snooze for a few more minutes.
Just before work I’d carry his fluffy butt back out to the coop. That’s where it got a little challenging. Instead of greeting his ladies with happiness he’d chase them around the coop making them quite unhappy. He needed to establish his dominance with his harem and he wasn’t happy until he pecked at every one of them.
Decisions had to be made. Fortunately Karen has a co-worker that has about 55 acres where they free-range chickens. Blender is on his way to the farm tomorrow.
Our hearts are broken. We really didn’t want to give him up but we really feel we had a choice.
Flying the coop
Happy trails little buddy.