Allow me to introduce Sir Rosencrantz Fluffkin, our newly-acquired silkie rooster.
Sir Fluffkin began life as a city bird, but his neighbors were less than enthusiastic about him. That’s how he ended up with us. His owners originally thought he was a she so they named him Rosie. That didn’t seem fitting for such a cool bird so I renamed him Sir Rosencrantz Fluffkin, both to honor their original name and to better capture his awesomeness.
After his arrival, Sir Fluff had a harrowing evening. We put him in with our laying flock and they did not take to each other. Maybe the other chickens thought he was a freak. Maybe he, a fancy breed city chicken, thought himself above your average chickens. Who knows. The only one who paid any attention to him was Chicken-Dog and that attention was most unwelcome.
Sometime during the night he managed an escape over the fence. It was probably for the best as yet another hen fell victim to Chicken-Dog last night (she got 2 yesterday). He was not a happy rooster when I found him this morning. He was cold, hungry and damp. Look at his spiky “do” courtesy of the dew.
I put him back in with the flock, but things did not improve. The dog continued to harass him and the other chickens continued to exclude him, pushing him away from the food and hen house. It didn’t take much to see that the planned living arrangement wasn’t going to work. So we put up a small pen right by the house where Sir Fluffkin can live in peace. He is the unofficial farm pet/mascot and is much happier in this role than he was amongst his own kind.
To be honest, I’m not sure he realizes he’s a chicken. He definitely prefers people to other chickens. He’s about as tame and domesticated as they come. He enjoys being held and petted. The rest of our chickens run from us, even though they interact with humans every day.
That means we have a rooster who thinks he’s a person. A lamb that thinks she’s a chicken (and a boy). And a dog that should think she’s a chicken which kind of makes her a cannibal.
Just your average farm!
And, no, Sir Fluffkin hasn’t changed my overall opinion of chickens. There are exceptions to every rule, right?