It was such an ordinary day. Doris the hen awoke bright and early to the sound of one of the rooster’s loud calls ringing through the dusty, semi-dark air of the hen house. She looked up to see which rooster was on wake-up duty today. Sitting on the section of perch appointed to the holder of that coveted position sat Weird Al, his signature swing comb hanging off to one side ever so slightly. Next to him sat his girl, the Barred Rock named Maxine, whose face bore a haughty look usually only sported by certain dignitaries.
Doris thought of the week before with much amusement as she
remembered when the juvenile rooster Bob was placed on wake-up duty. The son of
a legendary and well-respected rooster named Ulysses, much was expected of
Bob. He had woken up far too early, due
no doubt to the excitement of being on wake-up duty for the first time. He had
let out a full volley of adolescent crows, much to the chagrin of his enemies
and the horror of his allies. Everyone awoke, and a great tumult ensued,
leading to his removal from the position. This was a grave mistake, because
anytime the rooster on duty crows at the wrong time, a state of emergency has
to be declared for at least 3 days. This is because the colony of humans, who
they were so unfortunate enough to live near, may become angry, and the
roosters’ very lives may be in danger. The bullying had got rather bad for poor
Bob, it was true, and the talk about the nest-boxes was that he had even
considered going into exile at the Retirement Pen for Chickens nearby after his
untimely disgrace.
Perhaps that was why Weird Al looked particularly smug as he
proudly carried out his duties without flaw that morning. All of the chickens awoke, and with a shake
of their feathers, they each began to make their way towards the exit of the
henhouse and began to get out one by one-first Weird Al and his lady Maxine,
then a white rooster named Catullus, next an older hen named Phoebe, and on and
on until at last they were all pecking merrily on the damp, springy grass. When
Doris got out , she began her normal morning routine of preening and shaking
out her feathers and then pecking and
scrounging for her breakfast. She tried not to make eye contact or get in the
way of Maxine as she strutted about nearby, displaying her fine, fluffy black
and white plumage.
As Doris extracted yet another worm from its slimy tunnel, a
rooster standing nearby caught her eye. Feeling her gaze, the rooster
instinctively began to strut a bit more proudly and to groom and fluff his
already perfectly coiffed white tail feathers. Doris turned demurely and began
once again to search for grubs and worms along the green damp grass. Looking up
a few moments later, with a grub hanging most unflatteringly from her yellow
beak, she was surprised to see that the rooster had moved a few steps closer.
Clyde (for that was the rooster’s name) stepped a bit closer and winked. Then,
with great deftness, he handily picked out a worm-big, pink, and juicy, from
the ground. Then with a quick glance to make sure she was watching, he
proceeded to slurp the worm down in an instant, with the entire left side of
his beak closed off.
This, as you must have deduced, is the farmyard equivalent
of that show-off elementary trick in which you drink a whole glass of milk,
teeth firmly sealed, through a straw placed in a gap where a tooth used to be.
Doris, perplexed by the rooster’s advances and embarrassed at the remembrance
of how dumb she must have looked a few minutes earlier with the grub protruding
from her mouth, began a retreat ever so slightly, going slow, picking an
imaginary grub here and there, so that Clyde might not notice. Unfortunately,
he did, and reciprocated by moving closer to her, hoping to intimidate her. But
she would not be intimidated. Finally, his pride unable to bear this blatant
rejection and apparent lack of appreciation for his supposed skills, he
strutted forward, frustrated. Doris sensed this and looked up, and for a moment
their yellow eyes met. With a terrified squawk, the hen turned and ran fast as
she could away from him. Clyde, rolling his eyes, knows he can easily outrun
the hen, but he starts out slow to make the display more exciting for the
onlookers, of which there were plenty. Hens, pecking contentedly nearby, look
up from their activity to watch the chase, heads cocked to one side. Other
roosters watch the scene and cluck approvingly, and Bob, the juvenile rooster,
lets out his signature (now infamous) adolescent crow to show his approval. Not
to be outdone, Weird Al lets out a loud, strong crow. Next, One Eye Jack gives
his contribution. Then, without a word, the game is on. The roosters all
eagerly compete for the glory of Best Crow in Show. And who was the judge? Maxine,
of course.
Doris runs, rushing past that flock of hens and blowing past
the cacophony of crowing roosters. Clyde follows, getting closer by the
second. Another group of hens, a
sympathetic group of Gold Stars with a professional background in Psychology
and Poultry Relations, stand chatting by the flowerbed as the pair flies past.
“Ah, poor Doris! Clyde’s just downright obsessed with her today!” They shake
their wattles sympathetically and go back to socializing, this time turning to
the topic of the effects of excess buckwheat consumption on a rooster’s
behavior. Studies they had read showed
that it can exacerbate a rooster’s obsessive nature. Aha! Perhaps that was the reason for Clyde’s
recent obsessive compulsive behavior s they had observed.
Doris is frantic, and running out of steam. She decides to
use the one trick that had consistently worked well in the past- the Rooster
Ditch. She strategically ran through a part of the barn she knew the roosters
were generally not familiar with. The dim, early morning light would also aid
her escape. Next she extended her lead as much as she could, and then, with a
frantic dive, flew into a small corner room that was unoccupied, save for a few
pieces of plywood and old tobacco stick, which she hid behind as soon as she
landed. Pulse racing, she heard Clyde run barreling past, and on through the
barn. She had done it! She waited until her breathing had become normal, and
then she ventured back out. She felt sure Clyde would have gotten laughed at
when he emerged from the barn alone and still running furiously after nothing,
she had seen it happen many times. Happy in her success, she strutted out the
back of the barn into the growing morning light and went back to her breakfast.
It was a normal day, indeed.
