Earle. See that look?
I did something I was afraid to do and I guess I’m proud of myself. I have mixed emotions about this event. I’m part of a chicken co-op and during COVID our old hens decided not to lay any more. We hung on to the girls mostly because the co-op excels at procrastination. Eventually we got rid of them and were chicken-less as well as eggless for a few weeks.
Friend Kate offered us 12 small chicks. It was anyone’s guess who’s a hen and who’s a rooster at that point. We fed them for months and no eggs appeared but two obvious roosters developed. Then one day there were 3 eggs. In a week, the girls were producing 12 eggs a day.
It was time to get those roosters out of the yard. A friendly conversation with a neighbor who was looking for something to put in the Sunday stew pot relieved us of one of the boys. But no one wanted the other rooster. My but he was magnificent, growing big with big spurs. He did indeed rule the roost. I called him Earle. Earle was trouble.
I’m not a fan of roosters. You can read about why right here on the blog by going to Alpha Chicken. Fact is, roosters scare me. Once flogged forever wary. But Earle steered clear of humans. He was too busy bossing the girls to bother with me. Earle crowed during the day, but it wasn’t a lot and all the hens seemed to like him.
That is until Earle started pecking the feathers off the rear of the best broody hen layers. The other chickens would peck at these girls too and you could tell the broody hens were miserable. Pecking order defined and it was ugly to watch. A few of these poor hens stayed in the nesting boxes just to get away from the bastard and his entourage.
Then Earle started crowing ALL THE TIME, day and night, and the broody hens started looking pre-plucked. And as The Chicks sang, it was Goodbye Earle. Nancy, Mike and I met at the chicken coop. Like Nancy, I had on long sleeves, long pants, gloves and boots. Fearless Mike, bless him, had on gloves, shorts, Tevas and a t-shirt.
I grabbed a sheet and into the chicken yard we trouped. I waved the sheet at the flock, effectively separating Earle from the hens. Those girls made a screaming bee line into the hen house as we trapped Earle in the corner. You would have thought we were a synchronized team as Mike dove at Earle, grabbed him in just the right spot and pinned him down on the ground. I covered Earle’s head with the sheet which knocked all the cockfight out of him, and Nancy opened the stout cardboard box. In went a calm be-sheeted Earle.
I applied a little duct tape to the box lid to assure he wouldn’t escape on the ride over to WildCare, Inc. It took all of 3 minutes and 6 months to get Earle out of our lives. Wonder if the broody hens had a party when they realized he was gone? I hope so.
Coaching isn’t therapy. It’s a chance to bounce ideas off someone and work out a realistic plan. It’s an opportunity to be held accountable so you move forward toward your goals. If that interests you please come see me here Work With Me . You can also visit the Art Gallery by clicking here Art Gallery or subscribe to the weekly here Subscribe
