Rocky Updated

I thought I’d give you a little update on our latest chicken. For those of you who follow the blog you may remember that they were bought as little more than a chic from the local market. Previously I’d only bought fully grown hens, and it hadn’t occurred to me to check their sex. Being townies and buying all our meat wrapped in plastic it isn’t part of my consciousness of buying a live bird to later kill for eat. You can read our post here about our growing awareness that our latest chicken may in fact be a cockerel.

Pretty soon Rocky, as we came to call him, was crowing loudly at first light. Not just the dawn either, if we accidentally left the downstairs light on he’d crow. Throughout the day he’d crow. If it was windy he’d crow. My youngest daughter started to say “shut up” frequently and I was appalled. Why would she use that kind of language? Where would she hear the English? Not in our house surely? Then Rocky crowed as I went to the garage near the coop; “Shut up Rockie!” Ahh, that’s where.

He could be a little aggressive, but a couple of set tos between us, me with a broom, sorted that out. Not that that helped our poor hens, who were being frequently mounted. Even poor, blind in one eye Apple. They didn’t seem to like it at all and I expected to have a Me Too movement on our hands any day.

The girls started to hide to lay their eggs, as they didn’t want to be around him in their delicate position (How Jane Austen was that?).

The one thing he was good for was protecting the hens. Bertie, who had killed poor Lady Jane, would no longer go anywhere near the coop as Rocky had grown considerably bigger than him.

Eventually we came to the decision that that benefit and Rocky’s handsome self was not enough for us to want to keep him. I asked the boiler man if he knew anyone who’d want a cockerel.
– No.
– Wed bought him by mistake you see….(insert pathetic townie look)

As with the ducks I was met with a puzzled, albeit kind, expression. “Eat him?” Again I trotted out my embarrassed explanation – we only eat meat that’s been wrapped in plastic from the supermarket. Our kind boilerman responded “but they taste so much better this way”.

They probably do.

We started to discuss it because the early mornings and constant noise were driving my husband nuts. I suggested maybe having someone do the deed for us. But however much Rocky was aggravating him, he just couldn’t see himself tucking into him. Our daughter though has gone full French; not only does she ask for Camembert on this side with a bacon sandwich, her response to the thought of eating Rocky was “I wonder if he’d taste nice”.

Eventually I was so desperate I contacted the Parish priest. Did he know someone who would take Rocky, but not eat him? I went to mass and there was a lovely lady who had a farm and chickens who volunteered to take him under her wing (see what I did there?).

She turned up with her friend and a small box. I was convinced it was way to small and they’d never be able to catch him, let alone get him in there. They went in the coop and within a minute he was caught and hanging upside down by the legs. They trussed up his legs, then his wings. I went to find a bigger box, but when I got back he was already inside! I couldn’t believe it.

They kept asking me – don’t you eat chicken? Obviously flummoxed by my reticence to eat him. She assured me that he’d have a good home.

The house is quieter now. The chickens are a lot happier and I’ve promised the girls that we can get another one to make up for Rocky.