rooster physchology 101

itsmecindi · Aug 22, 2003

I think I finally learned how to handle roosters. We have a big mutt rooster called Brewster. I'm not so sure if he's actually mean or not, but he is not above trying to intimidate you if he gets the chance. He's gotten the chance from me several times. One look at his spurs and you would understand. An inch and a half of wickedly curved claw with a needle sharp tip at the end of each leg. If I had to guess I would put his weight in the neighborhood of 8-10 lbs.

I spent a lot of time getting out of this roosters way. If I was walking along and he walked out on front of me I would go around him, keeping one eye on him all the time, so that when he ventured a peck at my ankle, which he would invariably do, I could get out of the way fast enough.

It galled me to have this rooster running things, but I knew that if I did what I wanted to do, which is drop kick him across the pasture, that I might injure him. As big as he is, he could still be considered fragile under the type of kick I was prepared to deliver. Going in the chicken house when he is on the roost, is a definite no-no. He would just as soon land on your head and rearrange the part in your hair, as look at you.

I've had him land on me before and it is not a pleasant experience. I got away with no serious injuries only because I was inspired to tuck my head between my legs and back out of the coop leaving him to slide off into a heap on the ground.

A few months ago I bought a bunch of chicks from the local feed store. Straight runs. I never have bought them this way, I was always afraid I would end up with all roosters, as straight runs are not sexed, you get what you get.

As anticipated, I now have in the neighborhood of ten plymouth barred rock roosters, not too mention Brewster and Big Red, a Rhode Island red rooster who pretty much stays to himself.

Now it's almost impossible to walk anywhere without confronting a big healthy rooster and I guess I have started to lose my patience from wandering around out there like a drunk, trying to dodge them. I haven't walked a straight line from the feed shed to the chicken yard in so long that the path that I had once worn down is now completely grown over.

This morning I went back to check on piggies and almost immediately a plymouth rooster planted himself in front of me, demanding...feed I guess. I clenched my teeth and just held my course right through the middle of where he was standing. He jumped out of the way at the last minute squawking.

Hmmm.....

I had the same success with the next two plymouth roosters. I was feeling pretty confident by then, and almost wished Brewster would come along so I could try out MY new intimidation tactic. Sure enough, on my way back to the house I saw him out of the corner of my eye making his way rapidly across the hen yard toward the gate where our paths would cross.

I slowed my progress slightly to make sure that he would be waiting for me at the end of the path. There he stood, eighteen inches of feather, stew makings, and rigid bone, spurs glinting in the early morning sun, cocky as he could be. I never even broke stride, I waded right through the middle of him, scattering feathers and dust, and I'm almost sure I stepped on something connectd and sensitive as he let out a warble that could only be motivated by discomfort of some sort.

The change in his personality was miraculous. I walked several feet before I turned around to look back at him, and found him standing by the gate, his head cocked to the side, one eye gleaming at me. If I could read his mind, assuming he has one, I reckon he was thinking....'what the heck just happened?'...that was what was written all over his face.

I walked back past him two or three times, just to see what he'd do and he stayed glued to the spot he was standing in, but now refused to look at me. I guess his feelings were hurt.

After all the running and dodging and trying to be politically poultry correct, as so often happens, I lost my patience and I am always amazed at what I learn when this happens. Common sense dictates that a hundred and (mumble mumble) pounds far outweighs ten, and all it took was a little short course in weight dynamics to share this information with Brewster.

I still won't go in the hen house when he's in there as he has the advantage of surprise as I never know where he'll spring at me from, but henceforth, the paths belong to me, and if the day ever comes when he starts jumping at me from the top of he gate (he's not dumb, I expect this to happen eventually), well then there's always the stew pot. I have all those plymouth barred rock roosters out there, strong and healthy and looking for work.

Bird · Aug 22, 2003

Cindi, I think I may have posted this information before, but when I was a kid, we always had a flock of free ranging laying hens and at least one big rooster. Over the years, we had several different breeds because Dad bought chicks from the Post Office each Spring (how many of you are old enough to remember when the Post Office delivered boxes of baby chicks and if they couldn't be delivered to the recipient within a day of arriving at the Post Office, the Postmaster was authorized to sell them to anyone who wanted them, and cheap?).

Dad's favorites were White Leghorns and when I was about 12, we had a big beautiful White Leghorn rooster with a really healthy set of long, sharp spurs, and for reasons unknown he developed a habit of attacking me every time I left our fenced yard, which was several times a day. Now I thought the best solution was a big pot of chicken and dumplings, but since he was the only rooster we had at the time, Dad vetoed that idea in a hurry. In fact, Dad thought it was quite humorous watching me fight off that rooster, but those spurs could really scratch you up enough to cause some blood loss.

So Dad told me that since a rooster jumps and brings those legs up to get the spurs forward, that the thing to do was to simply grab him by the legs when he attacked and dip him in the cows' water trough. Seemed simple enough. So the next day, I did just that. I very quickly dipped him into the water trough, then threw him as far as I could. He hit the ground running and I thought I'd solved my problem. However, the very next day, he attacked again; must have had a very short memory. So back to water trough, but this time, I pushed him all the way down and stood there watching the bubbles until there were very few bubbles rising to the top of the water. And that time when I threw him, he just landed in a pile, then began flopping around on the ground the same as if I'd chopped his head off. Talk about one scared kid . . . I knew that Dad was going to be furious if I'd killed his rooster. However, that rooster eventually (seemed like it took forever) recovered and got back on his feet, and I was tremendously relieved to see him stagger off.

And from that day on, that rooster gave me a wide berth. /forums/images/graemlins/grin.gif

itsmecindi · Aug 22, 2003

".......until there were very few bubbles rising to the top of the water"

You just made me spit chunks of french toast all over the front of my monitor!

The image that created was priceless! /forums/images/graemlins/grin.gif

gotrocks · Aug 26, 2003

Well while I'm cooling off let me tell you one of my chicken tales.
When I was in HS & 4H I had ordered some chicks to be raised.

At that time we had a huge fig bush in the back yard.(NOT in the chicken yard). I would check late in the day and spot me a choice plump fig that I planned to pick the nextmorning for bkfast.

Several days in succession I would go out and my plump fig would be gone. On about the 3rd or 4day I went out and saw one of my young chickens that had gotten out of the fence and just finishing off MY fig.

Well the chick jumped out of the fig bush on the other side, I picked up a nice size rock and since I could not throw directly at the target I lobed it over the fig bush and hit the little fig thief right in the top of the head.

Then like Bird's rooster he started flopping just like his neck had been rung, I went in the house and told mother, "I just killed one of my chickens."

(They weren't even close to frying size).... After a few minutes I went back to pick up the carcass and just as I rounded the fig bush... up he jumps and runs back to the hole in the fence and back into the chicken yard.

I'll save my other chicken stories for later.

Bird, do you remember the old radio commerical for "Rooster Snuff" ?
It was a kind of musical jingle
"Crow like a rooster, cackle like a hen, Rooster Snuff is just the snuff for women folk and men."

itsmecindi · Aug 26, 2003

mmmm.mmmm...you just made me nostalgic. I haven't thought of a fresh fig in years. Yummy. I wonder if I can grow figs in Florida or if they need a long cold spell.

Bird · Aug 26, 2003

Nope, don't remember that snuff commercial, but I sure do like fresh figs and fig preserves. Except for the years my parents spent in Alaska, my Dad was always going to have a fig bush or two. And I never did get one to survive and produce on my place. /forums/images/graemlins/frown.gif

Docsknotinn · Aug 26, 2003

Cindy, did you blow the smoke of the ends of both barrels before you reholstered them heaters ? lol, now try tameing a chicken hawk. /forums/images/graemlins/grin.gif Dave