Well, I have not written here in a long while, I know, and so much has happened since February! I have many photos, but there are five hundred million cords that go into my computer and hook up to various cameras and electronics, and I cannot, for the life of me, find the one for MY camera with all my hobby farm pictures on it. SO, that means I will have to post the pictures later.
Now, lets talk roosters. As I was saying, I have three. Dick, the original, and Rodney and the white silkie, who hasn't got a name yet, and maybe never will have a name, came to me at the same time. Last summer, I bought two silkie chicks and two Ameraucana chicks. One of each turned out to be roosters! That was all well and good, when they were little, but oh, what a racket they are causing now.
I went to the henhouse the other day and Dick was cowering almost completely under the hay on the floor, barely moving, and obviously very scared. I thought he was dead, but I could see his body move as he breathed. I poked him and he got up and wobbled over to another corner. His head feathers were all plucked off! His comb was bloody and looked like it was chopped off completely. OR hacked off! I was horrified. It looked like something had attacked it.
RODNEY!! It had to be Rodney, because the pen is fenced and nothing can get in. Well, I'm sure a cat could crawl up over the fencing, but I had a sneaking suspicious that Rodney was the culprit!
I retrieved the dog kennel from the other shed and set it up in the henhouse. I filled it with hay and water and placed Dick in there away from the other hens. I had to do what I can to a) let him die in peace, or b) help him recover, if that was possible.
My next step was to deal with Rodney. He was going to the big house! I have a second garbage box someone gave me, so I got my nephew, Mitchell, and his friend, Mitchell, to carry it out back for me, into the chickens' pound to place Rodney in there. The garbage box wouldn't fit through the gate entrance to the chickens' pound, so the boys had to precariously balance it on TOP of the gate and gently lift and lay it over the fencing inside the pound.
I then had to CATCH Rodney! Mitchell and Mitchell tried to catch him too but I managed to grab his tail feathers and hold him enough to put him in the garbage box. He wasn't pleased. He hissed and made noises I didn't know chickens made. It was scary. I gave him hay and water and a bit of food, and left him there until I could figure out what to do.
Later that same day, Rodney was still clucking in the garbage box. No rooster crows like he normally does, but just clucking.