Saddle Up Your Chickens

Roosters can sometimes be a real pain. Yes, they’re guardians of the flock, alerting the presence of predators (including airplanes and dragonflies), announcing the presence of tasty morsels (usually after the ladies have found it themselves), and putting on a pretty show. Their colors and plumage can be quite stunning, along with the dances and calls that are so characteristic of the male line of Avis Domesticus.

You don’t actually need roosters, though, to get eggs. Hen chickens will lay all on their own just fine. But if you want to hatch those eggs to have chicks, well, then you do need those fellows, with all the quirks and wrinkles.

My first rooster was named Bert after the son of our farm’s original homesteader who helped put up my first chicken coop. Unfortunately, Bert the man passed away before the first clutch of chickens, so when the original 27 meat birds from Murray McMurray arrived with a fuzzy gray exotic chick, he won the honorary name. Little Burt grew into a handsome, black-and-white Aruacana that would follow me about the yard, sit on my shoulder like a parrot, and loved to eat oatmeal and clover.

Over the years, we’ve had several generations of roosters named Bert. Some had golden manes and bronze chests, other sported iridescent blues and copper tones. There’s been a few oddballs as well. Buddy was a Barred Rock, but his demeanor was so docile that the other rooster wouldn’t let him back in the coop. There was more than one occasion of having to treat Buddy for frostbite in the winter—poor fellow! Then there was Silver (also known as Napoleon) the Silver Spangled Hamburg. Bigger than a bantam but smaller than a standard size chicken, what Silver lacked in stature he compensated for with attitude! And then for several summers at the Café, we had our celebrity Silver-laced Wyandotte/Aruacana cross rooster Wooster, who was as tame and gentle with inquisitive children as could be.

But ah, once we had a rooster named Chipper. Stocky, handsome, gold and copper, Chipper was certainly king of the roost, and he knew it. But then things turned sour as Chipper decided to lord his mastery over me too! Every morning, as soon as I would open the coop door, he’d be on the attack, legs in the air, spurs at the ready. Beanpole teenaged me had to be at the ready too, with a broomstick as a defense weapon.

WHACK, I’d knock Chipper a good one and he’d go back into the coop, land, and then come right back for more. It was a continuous, destructive loop, until one day Chipper cut a nasty gash in my leg with is spur, and he was destined for the soup pot. Since, then I’ve taken a different approach to rooster control.

Each year, I pick out a new crew from the crop of cockerels, watching behaviors through their maturing summer season. Young roosters that are too feisty won’t be good keepers because they’ll end up just like Chipper. But on the other hand, roosters too far down the pecking order won’t garner any respect from the hens and end up ostracized like Buddy.

Interestingly, my reputation for rooster control has been spreading. At farmer’s market, at the shop, even just walking down the street in town, folks stop me to ask about what they should do with their problem rooster. He’s attacking the kids or the misses, and it’s going from bad to worse. They’re getting desperate.

“Well,” I coach, “Here’s what you should do. But this needs to be done by the people the rooster doesn’t like. You can’t do it for them,” and I give them my this-is-serious sideways look.

And so begins the description of how to complete Operation Rooster Tamer.

If a rooster has been attacking you, here’s what you need to do. First, you need to understand how chickens sort out their own pecking orders because the rooster sees you as another rooster. It all has to do with the head. If a chicken can peck another chicken’s head, then this shows their dominance. If not, there’s a faceoff to see who wins the peck. You need to show the rooster that you’ve won the right to discipline his head.

Catch the rooster yourself, hold him by the tail and let him kick and flap for a little bit, so he knows that he can’t get away. Then tuck him snugly under your arm so his wings are held tight to his sides. Then taking your free hand, cup it like a cap and cover the rooster’s head, pressing it down towards his shoulders. Keep it firm but not painful, giving it a little shake.

Take your hand away, let the rooster catch one breath, then repeat several times, telling him forcefully that you are the boss. At the end, cast the rooster aside and walk off briskly. Don’t stop and say, “Oh poor thing, will you be ok?” He’ll stand there gasping (not because you hurt him but because he’s a bit scared), trying to wrap his bird brain around the new social situation.

You may have to repeat the scenario now and then, whenever the rooster starts to act up again. I currently have a fellow named Blondell who needs a status reminded every once in a while. But some roosters will be completely incurable, and the best thing you can do with them is make stew with the old one and try another rooster.

But roosters can pull another dirty trick, which is plucking off the feathers from favorite hen’s backs. With the communal pecking order, hens will pull at each other’s feathers as well, especially when bored. In the end, some of the hens can get bare backs, which are vulnerable to the sun and cold.

This last month, I found a company that makes “chicken saddles” (also known as chicken armor or chicken aprons), which fit over the wings and lays across the back. It protects the hen from the rooster’s claws during mating as well as discourages feather picking from socially superior hens. They also come with eye decals on top to discourage flying predators. Curious, I bought a dozen saddles and Mom and I performed the hilarious duty of trying to get them on the hens, who were extremely dissatisfied with the whole affair.

By morning, one of the saddles was lying in the bedding. So there, she said! But lately the girls are getting used to their new accessory, so we’ll see how it works with the feather picking. As for the roosters, they better behave, or they’ll be in for another hug! If they get out of line, we’ll saddle up the chickens and have a real rustling chase. And remember oh roosters that in the end, there’s always a stew pot at the ready. See you down on the farm sometime.