Member-only story
The Little Boy and the Big, Bad, Rooster
Sometimes courage can be found in the back of a closet.
I have been a backyard chicken farmer for almost a decade. My kids are fond of the chickens and often help care for them.
When I say chickens, I mean hens.
We have had a couple of roosters in the past but those were the days before the children.
Roosters are nothing like hens.
Hens are laid back and gentle. They wait for morning to let them out of the coop so they can walk around, pecking at the pesky bugs they find so yummy. This is after they leave me a nest full of fresh eggs for our consumption (they hardly ever get mad about that).
Then…. we got a rooster.
My 8-year-old son was particularly fond of our new male chicken. He named him Georgie and spent his days holding and playing with him. One day Georgie let out his first crow, and we were all so happy and proud.
We were naive and couldn’t fathom the betrayal that would soon beseech us.
It happened to me first. One morning I opened the door to the coop to let the chicken babies out. I heard a flutter and felt a gentle feathery bump on my leg.
