Separated

Male Bunnies enjoying their new home

Watching the females raise their tiny baby animals is very satisfying and great entertainment. I could watch them all day, tumbling and learning. There comes a time when the babies begin to separate from their mother. Chicks wander further and further away from the protective watch of their mother, at first staying within a leap from her protective wing, then within eye sight until finally, there they stand on their own. Bunnies start to mate their own mother. Time to separate them.

The three roosters called Thomson, Thomson and Thomson (my eight year old is a big Tin Tin fan) are now almost fully grown and are wreaking havoc in the coop mounting anything in sight and in fact quite brutally helping each other out. One day I watched as one of these feathered youngsters held down a hen's head to the ground using his beak to clutch her head feathers while his brothers both tried to mount her at the same time. I was worried they may injure her so I decided to separate them. It wasn't the only reason, just the final straw. They had been gobbling all of my chicken feed, taking over the leadership role from our really good rooster and then, there was the noise. They all like to crow from morning until night, competing with a high pitched, terrible sounding crow that curls your eye lashes.

I chased and caught one rooster, took him to a waiting pen and went for the second Thomson. he proved harder to catch but I got him, but when I lifted the lid to add him to the pen, Thomson one escaped followed by Thomson two. They flapped and yelled all over the garage/barn.I let out a mixed and imaginative flurry of swear words to match their feathered flurry. They leaped up to the highest stack of hay and settled in. I debated leaving them but then decided to try one more time. I got a broom and shooed them off the hay. I caught one near the floor and felt bad for a moment as he let out the whimper of a much younger bird. I put him in the pen and went for his brother. I cornered him, he got away not before scratching my palm. Luckily he didn't break the skin. I cornered him again and said "this time you are mine, you little frigger!" He moved left, I moved left. He moved right, I moved right. We were doing a mirrored chicken dance in the corner of the garage. I put both gloved hands on him and grabbed his legs and in one motion scooped him up and held him close to me. I pet him and shushed him gently and got him into the pen with his brother.

Thompson, aka "Trouble"

I went back to the main chicken coop to assess my chances of getting the final and largest pain in the butt, Thompson number 3. By this time all of the hens and my head rooster were all whipped up into a frenzy wondering what was going on, the two penned roosters in the next room were cock-a-doodle-doing and the 3rd rooster was answering. This all at 8 at night. I made a half-hearted attempt at rooster three but was thwarted and gave up. I couldn't get within 6 feet of him and he was not beneath hiding in the nesting boxes or behind the hens. I figured all of the chickens had been traumatized enough for one night.The next night my husband informed me one of the roosters somehow got out of the covered pen. We looked and couldn't find him. The rooster returned the next day but I think he may have spent the night in the attic of the garage because that was the only place we hadn't checked.

Our Lead Rooster, aka "The Colonel"

The next day I thought I could sneak up on him while he slept but he was hip to my mood and danced away as soon as I opened the door to the coop. I decided to wait for reinforcements. It is quieter the next day and I was hoping my lead rooster was gaining favour with his hens and stepping back into a leadership role. He is such a  good rooster. Pure bred Chant Ecler, gentle with humans, watchful, never sounding an alarm unless necessary only a brief crow in the morning and sometimes in evening. He finds food for the hens and their young, picking it up and then depositing it at their feet for them to have, and only eating when all other chickens have had their share. He lifts his wing and herds the hens and their babies, shooing them back to the group and isn't overly rough when mating, but gets the job done.  The Colonel is a good rooster and I don't want his sons messing up our delicate balance of chicken politics by confusing the hens or hurting or killing the Colonel. Some of their fights are getting a bit more vicious but haven't so far been too bloody. It is just too many roosters to have in one spot.

Now the hard part. Thomson, Thompson and Thompson can't stay in their separate pen for very long. Keeping three nearly grown roosters as pets does not mesh with my idea, nor theirs of happy, free range chickens so they must be dispatched, soon. As much as they are bothersome, it is hard to kill something you were so excited about being born, and if they were laying hens, they would have become a welcomed part of my flock. It isn't just the killing but really after that, in these frigid temperatures, I am not keen on plucking, gutting, or cleaning them. Oh well, I do look forward to eating their tender meat and this is just a part of farming chickens from egg to dinner plate. I will thank the sweet dearys, pet them and shush them and say good bye minutes before my axe lands squarely on their tiny necks.

Today was the day we dispatched two of the roosters. We went to the furthest corner of our property, away from the other chickens. The big, loud one was the first. I chopped off his head in one blow and he wriggled out of my husband's hand a danced around with no head. This is pretty normal. Then the headless chicken took off running down the driveway for a good 30 feet, where it met a live rooster. The live rooster thinking he was being attacked, did what roosters do, and attacked back. We watched in awe and horror as two roosters fought. One headless, the other very much alive. The adrenalin and nervousness of the humans mixed with this bizarre sight brought about some hysterical laughter and tears. Finally after a few more seconds, the headless rooster stumbled and keeled over, finally, completely dead. I would not have believed this if I hadn't seen it myself. There you have it. Anger, frustration, love, laughter, tears and blood. Life.