This guy’s days may be numbered. He’s five months old. Apparently that is the rooster threshold for friendliness because today he rushed me – twice. Now past experience with two roosters has proven that this is the beginning of the end.
The last two roosters got to flogging everyone who came to the house. Grace was a special favorite for them to chase around. They hardly ever flogged me, so I probably let them go longer than I should have. We ate them both eventually.
This guy made the mistake of coming for me first this time. I really thought we could raise a non-aggressive rooster. Eternal optimist that I am. Buffs seem to be pretty docile birds … at least the hens are. He finally started crowing good the past week or so. I guess he’s feeling pretty cocky right now.
What he doesn’t know is that I hold all the power. He lives and dies at my will.
They don’t say “Don’t bite the hand that feeds you” for no good reason. He’ll do well to learn that quickly.
It bums me out because if we eat him, when the zombie apocalypse comes, we won’t have anymore little baby chickens to raise.
Now that’s just sad.
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