King Daddy

If you're not lucky enough to have a broody hen who will set a clutch of eggs and hatch them, or whatever enough to have one of those incubator machines to hatch your eggs, you most likely get your chicks from your local farm supply store when they have them, usually available once a year, or your mail order poultry supply, usually available most of the year. When you buy chicks, you can specify "pullets," which is supposed to be all girls, or "straight run," which, in a perfect world, would be what ever you get when they hatch, supposedly 50/50 boys and girls, but in practical terms is probably what's left when they glean the pullets. How ever that happens, when I got my chickens, I asked for six red pullets (and have six red hens) and a straight run of barred rocks (and got two hens and four roosters). With the other two roosters I already had, that makes six hens and six roosters, which is about five roosters too many.

King Daddy, lord of the hens

Now, I do know how to slaughter a rooster. And at least one of those barred rock roosters has exhibited behavior that has brought roosters to the dinner table before. I guess I'm just not up to it right now, though, so I have separated five of the roosters from the rest of the flock. One rooster, affectionately named King Daddy, is lord of the hens and he is a good rooster. 


They could very well survive on the bugs and plants they graze on when they're outside, but I supplement their diet with chicken feed and kitchen scraps. Chickens will eat anything. Seriously, they are like pigs that way, only nowhere near as messy.


King Daddy looks out for his girls. He is always looking for some little tidbit on the ground that he thinks one of them might like to eat. He makes the cutest little fuss, to try to get them to come over to see what he has, "Chirp! Chirp! Chirp! Chirp!" If no one runs right over to get what ever he's trying to show them, he picks it up and drops it, like show-and-tell, and chirps some more. Picks it up again. The smart hens run over and get whatever he's showing them, sometimes plucking it right from his beak. It's very endearing to watch.

King Daddy lets his girls know when there's danger. There's a special sound for danger overhead, like hawks, owls, and the like. He makes another sound when there's a four-footed predator. There are certain movements that freak them out, and then they all go on and on, like a crowd in hysterics. Wave anything red at them and they go freaking nuts, you can't shut them up. There are some scenes in  Monty Python's Flying Circus that remind me of these chickens when they go nuts like that.

Today the roosters are out. When I went into the chicken pen to fill the waterer, somehow one of the barred rock hens escaped, the little ninja. I'm pretty good at keeping them at bay, but somehow she got through and I totally missed it, but, boy, as soon as she was out, here came all five of those roosters, as if to prove, once again, why they needed to be separated. As soon as the first one jumped on and off, I grabbed that hen and carried her back into the hen house. I imagine she had some 'splainin' to do when when got there, but at least she's safe again.