It's been a sad year for me. My last two posts featured animal friends that are no longer in my life. Esmerelda succumbed to cancer after a long and joyous life and my heart still aches a little when I think of being without her. More recently I had to let Rocky go. He had gotten more dangerous and unpredictable. His aggression was starting to have serious consequences.
Back in early Spring I was away from home for a couple of days. When I returned the dynamic of the flock had completely changed and Rocky had been deposed as the dominant Rooster. Sparky had suddenly asserted himself and for the first time, Rocky was completely cowed. He was fearful and spent most of his time trying to keep a very low profile. It was also the first time I was able to approach him without my broom and several layers of clothing. (He's even spurred me through layers of jeans, socks and boots.)
I opened up the flock to free range to give him more room to avoid the others if he needed to and we became good friends for a while. He would follow me around and let me pet him and no longer seemed wary of me. At night he would put himself to roost in a shed away from the flock. At first he stopped crowing, but over time his confidence returned bit by bit. It made me very happy the day he began crowing again.
Eventually he worked his way back in with the flock and seemed to sort out a truce with Sparky. He only seemed to want to be back with his family. There was no sparring and he learned to stay out of Sparky's way, sneaking into the hen house at night only after Sparky was good and groggy. As long as I made sure to open the door at first light in the morning, there was no problem.
As Rocky's confidence returned, so did his temper. I think having been relegated to 2nd Rooster, and not being able to show aggression to Sparky made him suddenly remember his old "feud" with me. A mere 3 months after embracing me as his friend and advocate/benefactor, he began attacking me again. He started things off by spurring me without warning one day. Sparky came to my rescue and chased Rocky away.
From then on I had to go back to my old strategy for being in the hen yard--go armed with broom. Sometimes even that wouldn't work, and I would find myself sometimes calling for Sparky to come and help me, which he always did.
You have to keep your sense of humor in a situation like that. Caution and a lighthearted approach help to smooth the way. I held no grudge against Rocky because he was doing what he thought was his job. At night, I would go in and speak to each hen and say "well done". And I would pet Sparky and Rocky and thank them for taking care of the flock. Each would close their eyes as I touched them and relax. It was, and still is one of my favorite activities of the day.
One day Rocky just seemed to snap. He came after me determined to do damage, and that is just what he did. He spurred my ankle to the bone and I believe he hit a vein, judging by the blood which filled my shoe.
I couldn't walk well enough to go into the hen yard for a couple of days. Mike was going in my place, but now Rocky was going after him too and even attacking Sparky, though Sparky always won. For the first time, Mike took a good look at Rocky's spurs. He was impressed because he'd never really seen them before. And he agreed with me that it was time for Rocky to go.
We took him back to the farm I got him from nearly 3 years ago. I have seen how they harvest chickens and knew they would be compassionate and humane. I knew I could trust them with Rocky.
Mike was worried we wouldn't be able to catch Rocky. He was picturing a violent and bloody battle, but somehow I persuaded him to trust me, and follow my lead. I went into the hen house at the very end of the day-just as the sun was setting. With Mike just outside, I said good night to the flock as I always did, petting Rocky last, as usual. Then I picked him up and gently hugged him a moment, before putting him into the carrier we had ready for him. Mike put the lid on and we placed him in the other shed for the night. His little inquisitive crooning sounds nearly tore my heart from its moorings and I don't think I stopped crying for hours after I closed the shed door.
I have learned a great deal from my flock and I am grateful to Rocky for being a good protector, increasing my flock and most of all for providing Sparky. But I am also grateful for the experience he gave me in our day to day interactions.
When you have a "back yard" flock as opposed to hundreds of chickens, you have the opportunity to observe and become aware of chicken culture in a way you might not otherwise notice.
Rocky was first and foremost the patriarch of the flock. His strategy after being deposed, was to fade back, go underground for a time and then to find a way back to his family. (Because the entire flock was his family!) He didn't care about being top rooster once Sparky had the job. His only goal was to be with his family. And he made concessions and adjustments, even risking serious injury, to make sure that happened. I watched all of this unfold over these last 4 months, and I find it remarkable how complex a flock can be.
For instance they know their names. Not only do they know their own personal names, (no surprise to me since they told me their names in the beginning), but they also know the others by name.
As in any family there are close relationships and there are rivalries. After not seeing Rocky for a whole day, Tricksy asked me where he was. I told her that he had to leave. That it was his time to move on. I heard "Oh" in my mind as she walked away, but her response triggered in me a loneliness and I wasn't sure if it was hers or mine. Later when I was thinking about it, I realized that of course Tricksy would be the one to ask about Rocky. She was closer to him than any of the others. Always attentive when he wasn't feeling well or when he was injured. When sleeping, he would bury his head in her wing as often as in his own.
Rocky was born old, it seems (or should I say hatched). Although he seemed full grown, he didn't yet have his spurs when he came to us and we watched him grow larger and larger still, until we thought he'd never stop growing. Mike and I used to joke about having a giant rooster towering over us in the yard. Thank God it didn't come to that!! But it didn't take him long to develop a stiffness in his wings, and he often reminded me of an old feller with his "trick" wing. It would get stuck up in the air sometimes when he'd fly out of the hen house in the morning, and if I was around to see it happen, I would help him release it with energy work in a hands off approach.
In Bill Mollison's permaculture system, chickens are a zone 2 animal. Meaning you may end up visiting that area about twice a day. I do think of the hen yard as zone 2, because it must be separate from zone 1 which is home to the garden. But I easily visit more than twice a day on some days. Especially when the weather warms up and the growing season begins. That's where the action is. Everything is going on there. There is soil being created, there is a language to be learned, and there are eggs to be found. Out of 8 hens, Ruby, Tricksy and Fanny are 3 years old, and Ruby's brood (Blossom, Flora and Yarrow) are 1 1/2 years old, with the other two being just 11 months now. I feel very rich indeed, if I get 6 eggs in a day, but I average about 4 per day.
Today was a rare, rich day though. I found 3 eggs in the shed, and then I found a new nest in the hen house with three large eggs in it. Beautiful and clean, I nearly collected them and then I suddenly changed my mind. It was last year at this time, and in almost the same location that Flora went broody. I decided to see if we could increase the flock. So that's where we're at now.
