Eenie, meenie, catch a rooster by the toe

Day 217 of rain. Noah called, he has some suggestions.

We have a new season ’round these parts, the little known fifth season that lands between Spring and Summer: Otterbee. As in, “it otterbee summer by now.” The two weeks leading up to the end of school were beautiful. Then, literally the last day of school, it got real cold. Then it rained. Then it never stopped and it never got warm again.

Even when it’s not raining, it’s raining. You can’t hear drops, you can’t see splashes, but you go outside and it’s misty. You spend five minutes out there and get soaked. The air is water.

I know, I know, you didn’t come here to talk about the weather. You came here to talk about roosters! Y’all, we done got us a rooster! As I said to a colleague just last evening, “you haven’t truly lived until you’ve held hands with your entire family plus your neighbor and tried to catch a rooster by the toe.”

We had been seeing a poultry looking foul alongside the road adjacent to ours for some days. ‘Lo and behold, at church, our neighbor approached and said a rooster had taken residence on his front porch. He said, “it’s real friendly, and I actually kind of like the guy, but I’m done with all the poo-ing.”

Fair.

Speaking of fair, trying to catch one, is anything but. Bro was sneaky and fast. To his credit, he was friendly and never pecked us. We all got in a big circle and scooted him towards a dog crate, shaking a bucket of feed and making cat-calls. Because how does one call a rooster? Nobody knows.

In the end, Hubs, in a shining moment of glory, dove forward and caught him by the leg. There was MUCH a kerfuffle. He emerged victorious.

LET THE RECORD SHOW: All stray things, particularly of the animal or child sort, that end up at our house are my doing. I am always the one to casually bring home a found animal. Once I snagged a dog on the side of the road, got it most of the way home before I realized it was a neighbor’s and had to return it. I had big plans for that dog.

The rooster…was all Hubs. I just have to take a moment and express my frustration that things went so smoothly for him. Whenever I integrate something into our flock/herd/family, it goes very poorly. If it’s a dog, there’s bickering betwixt the beasts. If it’s a cat, the dog wants to eat it. If it’s more chickens, they fight with the other chickens. If it’s chicks, one always dies and the cats are overly interested. And all the while Hubs looks on with an “I told you so” while I’m scoffing, “it’ll be fine, just a rough start, it’s all fine.”

The sad thing is, I truly believe that, every time.

But this. This rooster. Hubs told me in church, “the neighbor’s got a stray rooster, he doesn’t know what to do with it.”

For the first time in my life, I heard the word stray and responded, “we’re not taking it. Roosters are Bad News.”

Roosters are known for being aggressive. Towards children, animals, chickens, feed buckets, water bowls, and nature in general. Plus, cock-a-doodle-doo, duh.

“No, it’s fine. I told him we’ll take it.”

I was speechless.

And that is how I found myself holding hands in a field cooing at a rooster.

I would post more pictures of the fella, but it truly has not stopped raining long enough for me to go outside and take them. The hens really love him. He has introduced a semblance of order to their hierarchy that was much needed. The mean hens have stopped picking on the littler ones. He also gives them warnings when danger is near, like a predator, dog, or human and they all scurry towards him or under their coop for protection.

He does have an uncanny internal clock. 5:45 am will not sneak past him unannounced.