A patriarch is gone-we lose Papa Roo to nature

Papa Roo was our very first rooster. In fact, he was the very first rooster I had ever known. He came to Apifera from a local farm, along with our first hens, including some of the sneaky Banties that are such expert nest hiders producing many surprise clutches over the years which brought delight, more hens...and more roosters.

But Papa was always the number one man and I did my best to protect that.

But a couple years ago, he had taken to roosting up high in Old Barn, rather than returning to the hen house at night. This came after a series of encounters with one of the roosters, Chicken Jack, born out of a surprise clutch. I had made a deal with Chicken Jack due to the magical timing of his birth–you might remember the situation–the old donkey, Giacomo had to be put down, a very sad occasion as he had only arrived 19 days earlier. He was a very special donkey, my first elder equine, but it was obvious he was not well, and blood work proved how bad his condition was, and he was suffering. The day after he died, we heard chirping in the hay loft, and there was a brood of chicks. One of them turned out to be a rooster, a lovely fellow and I named him Chicken Jack, in honor of Giacomo.

I made a deal with Chicken Jack,

"Treat our Papa Roo with respect and you stay, otherwise, you leave one way or another."

He abided by that request for about 6 months, but as is often the case with 6 month old roosters, he started feeling too big for his underpants, and I began to find Papa in corners, wounded. Papa was a Bantie rooster, much smaller and less agile than Chicken Jack, an Aracuana mix.


But Papa always pulled through. And he eventually took some hens, and relocated to Old Barn. He spent days and nights there, and if he did venture out, he stayed out of the barnyard where Chicken Jack was.

Well one day, there was another fight, Chicken Jack wanted some of Papa's hens, and those hens had no interest in Chicken Jack. Papa got the worst of it, but he pulled through again. And Chicken Jack got a new home, a nice place with his own little flock. I see him all the time because I ride up there. I call out to him and I swear he runs for cover, thinking I might rehome him again.

After Chicken Jack left, I tried to entice Papa back to the hen house for night time safety. But it was futile. He and some of his girls had high roosts in the barn, and I let go of controlling it. If they made it, they made it. I can't control every incident of nature, nor can you. One morning I found Papa's feathers everywhere, clearly there had been a fight with a raccoon, and I followed the path of destruction to the back woods. I was sure he was dead. But I found him in the barn, a little worse for wear, but he was okay. He had managed to fight off death one more time, defending his girls.

Over time, Papa's hens began to wander back to the coop, because another rooster had come along, in yet another surprise clutch by one of the those rascal Banties! Papa was probably 12 years old at this point, and the hens, although loyal to him, understood who now had the strength. It was sort of sad to watch, but it is survival of the fittest. It took a lot of under cover work on my part but I managed to get all the hens back in the coop, and they were all put in lock down because I couldn't handle one more surprise clutch.

But Papa remained in Old Barn. I felt badly about it, and had planned to put him in a stall with one hen, so I could watch the eggs so as not to have more chicks. But in a few weeks, he had adopted himself to our front porch, where he would show up every morning and crow and crow, and then eat cat food with Little Orange and Plum. He spent time in the front garden dusting and he had an entire little area he roamed, free from the hassle of White Dogs or other roosters. While he had no hens, he seemed happy, and he always returned to Old Barn to sleep. He had the company, if you can call it that, of the World's Grumpiest Pig, Rosie, and the donkeys, and sheep. Sometimes I'd go to feed Rosie and there would be Papa, waiting by her side for some grain to fall.

So when I fed the cats this morning, and he wasn't there, I sensed it. Sometimes he wouldn't show up at the porch in the morning, but this day it just felt wrong. When I entered Old Barn to feed Rosie, I could see his perch area, feathers strewn all over.

"Papa?" I said quietly. But I knew.

I followed the trail of feathers about 300 feet to the edge of the fence line and could see where they entered the woods with him. I tried to see if his body was still around, or his wings, but couldn't see through the bramble. I managed to pick up some of the remaining feathers, but non of his beautiful cackles were there. He was well over twelve years old and had had a good run as a rooster. He went out feeding nature and no doubt was killed fast, at least I hope for that-he is gone now.

I returned to Old Barn and leaned into her side and cried. He was one of the original Apiferians. I was crying for a lot more than Papa though. I will share that in weeks to come.

Chicken mystery, chicken complexities

This morning I found many rooster feathers scattered and floating out behind Old Barn. I immediately assumed that Uno had been killed, as they were either his feathers or Papa Roo's, and I had just seen Papa. Francis is an Aracuana so I knew they weren't his feathers.

I felt horribly. I have been in a chicken transition for awhile now, which you know if you follow along-surprise clutches, new chicks, another surprise hatching last week-and then there is the shifting forces of the three roosters Francis, Uno and Papa Roo.

I feel great loyalty to Papa since he was here first and has always been a gentleman. He is a Bantie and is well over ten. When Francis came on the scene, there was not a lot of fighting, but within about a year or two, it was clear that some scuffles had occurred, and Papa was ousted out from the hen house, or chose to be. He took five hens with him and they began roosting on a ledge in Old Barn, near Rosie. One of these hens was the black Bantie who has been a master at hiding eggs and creating her own mini chicken factory.

I have been putting Uno in with the Francis gang in the coop, along with the new chicks. It's been working out okay. In the meantime, my last remaining Buff Orpington has taken to the goat barn, alone, staying there all by herself for the last four weeks. I assumed she was on her way out, but she keeps on greeting me every morning.

So there is a bit of chicken chaos at Apifera right now.

And then this morning, the rooster feathers. Clearly something had fought a rooster and appeared to have won, since the feathers stretched for about 40 feet and ended up going out a fence into the woods.

So, like I said, I felt horribly about Uno. I failed him. But, didn't I put him in the coop last night, I'm sure of it.

I went to the coop, and there was Uno, alive as I was.

I returned to look over Papa Roo and noticed that he only had one hen with him, another black bantie. But there was no Chicken Named Dog-a large white hen who has been here some time. She is not a setter so I started feeling she must have been killed. And there below their roost spot was a dead Aracuana, who had been dead for some time, clearly from a natural death. I hadn't seen her body because she was lying under a board.

I noticed Papa seemed a bit off, 'with a coma look'. then I realized his tail feathers were really plucked, and under his comb was some blood.

He must have been in a very big scuffle, or was dragged out by something, but fought it off. This is intriguing. A raccoon could easily kill him, even though Papa has big talons. I begin to wonder if he was defending Chicken Named Dog, but, there was not one white hen feather to be found. I will wait a day before I know she is clearly gone, she might be hiding due to stress, but...doubtful.

I am also missing Ida, or Crazy Ida as I call her.

Marcella did not bark last night and if it had been a bobcat she would have. A raccoon could have come through Old Barn first, but from all the feathers, it seems it must have been a good struggle.

Even though papa has been surviving in Old Barn for months now, I am going to put him and his Bantie hen in Eleanor's stall tonight. He will have a job to do-eat the maggots on the poop to help keep flies down. Then when we get the new wing of the chicken hut done, he can live there, free from the other roosters.

It's eerie though. Just seems strange he could fight off a predator. Especially one that could have taken Chicken Named Dog, since she is a big, healthy hen. But as The Head Troll once said,

Papa will never die.

Footnote {6:00 post meridian} Chicken Named Dog appeared again, unscathed. After revisiting the feather trail tonight, I found racoon droppings near the final clump of Papa's feathers. Perhaps it was a youngster inexperienced with making a kill. It seems remarkable his feather trail was that long, and he got out alive. To be continued.

Papa Roo on the mend

About a week ago, as I was putting the barnyard to bed, I found Papa Roo in the goat barn, huddled head down in a corner. Not a good sign. Chickens will go into almost a death position when they are sick. I've seen them recover, or not. When I saw his mass of feathers in the corner, I let out a sigh of, "Papa Roo..." thinking he was dead - he is after all over ten which is a good old age for a chicken, especially a rooster.

But I picked him up - another sign of how sick he was, as Papa has never tolerated being caught or held - and saw his whole head in blood, and all his beautiful neck feathers soaked in blood. When a chicken has been pecked or attacked on its comb or red waddle, huge amounts of blood come out.

Having been through it, I remained calm - which wasn't the case the first time I cleaned up a rooster attack. It's very hard to tell where the worst wounds are on a bleeding comb, but he had several huge tears. I cleaned him with warm water and doctored him up, and hoped for the best but expected the worst. I enclosed him in the Old Man Guinnias suite for the night - or so I thought.

I saw Chicken Jack on the way back to the house ad saw he had some blood, not much, so he was obviously the winner of this rooster pecking order challenge.

Arriving the next morning, I peeked in the stall, prepared for a funeral. But...no rooster. My heart sunk as I thought a coon might have snuck in there and got him, but there was no sign of distress. And then I heard a muffled rooster crow.

I searched each stall thinking maybe he was under hay and was too weak to get out. I went on with feedings, perplexed as to where he was. Sound travels oddly out here due to the coast range and the way the barns are situated within hills.

As I walked to the sheep barn, there he was, crowing near the hen house. Inside the coop was Chicken Jack, crowing too. They were not done with their disagreement. I was pleased though how strong Papa looked and the gushing blood had stopped. Chickens love blood and will peck at a wounded chicken for the red protein so I was concerned where I could put him for the day. I decided to get it over with and let all the chickens out, and Chicken Jack. Chicken Jack is about three and has been no problem here, he has always deferred to Papa Roo who has been here for a long time and has always been the patriarch of the hen house. But just as a young ram can turn into a different personality at two or three, I've seen roosters do the same thing.

It's the changing of the guard.

Chicken Jack came out with his fighting gloves on and the two roosters came together right away. I broke them up immediately before anything happened. I decided to sit in the barnyard for a half hour or so and commune, and watch the two roosters. It was obvious that Chicken Jack had won the first battle, and was now positioned higher than old Papa Roo. The hens - even the original hens who came with Papa, were hanging out near Chicken Jack, whereas they used to avoid him. Kind of sad, but it is the way of the barnyard.

Papa Roo seems to have mended up well. Papa now sleeps in the hut with the girls while I have Chicken Jack sleeping in the goat barn with Stevie, and whoever else decides to sleep in the Old Man Guinnias suite. I find it amusing to see how the goats go through periods of sleeping in one spot, and then move to another for a period of time.

During the day, so far, the two roosters seem to be staying out of battles. I will hope for continuing rooster tolerance, but the barnyard - just like the back woods or the river bottom - has its own laws that I am not in control of no matter how I might think my interfering will help.

The nap will let me dream

Update at 3:26pm: "Oh, I'll just check the ewes one more time and then take my nap," I said. Twin girls about an hour old out of Bessie. Looks like Lilly is in labor, and maybe Daisy. Now I'll take my nap.

In the dreary late winter rains, with no hope for sun...really, there is no hope. That is how I feel at this exact moment. It is partially due to the fact I've been sick, and I'm a very bad sick person and tend to get all frustrated with just about anything in my path. I am one of those people that pretends I'm not sick, but clearly by looking and listening to me, I am.

I'm also doing a lot of waiting. Waiting not to be sick. Waiting to hear about a particular project. Waiting to get paid b an overdue client. Waiting for the ewes to lamb as they now enter the over ripe pregnancy state.

So I shall follow Papa Roo's lead. I shall give in to it all, enter my chamber, and take a nap.

Conversing with Chickens #6

All week I'll be doing short, spur of the moment interviews with the chickens of Apifera. Like I said in the first interview, these chickens are busy, and have little desire for the spotlight, so expect brief, to the point answers. All answers are unrehearsed.

Note: At the time of this posting, I found one of the Three Janes in the coop, very
sick. I worked with her to revive her with water, and I hope she makes it through the day. If she does, it was most likely a passing illness. But once a chicken goes down, I've never seen them really revive. So Jane was on my mind as I interviewed Vivienne, one of our most independent, and very no-nonsense, hens. Vivienne is part Aracuana and has beautiful deep rust-red feathers.

KD: Vivienne, I think Jane is dying.

V: I need to get going....

KD: Vivienne, wait, do you mourn for flock members, when they are ill, do you comfort each other?

V: Our presence in a routine comforts us. The sensations of air, dirt and water are norms. When they are gone, we cease to exist, so there is no need for seeking or giving comfort. We live each moment. Or we die in one moment. There's no need to think of it either way.

KD: I knew you'd give me a direct response.

V: I have to go now.

Still, I am not a chicken. Just a woman with chickens, who sees their individual personalities and colors and revels in the way each one runs slightly differently, or waddles fast or slow. I told Jane as I held her, her eyes not opening, "You can't die, the Three Janes won't be the Three Janes." Even though I revived her somewhat, I'm prepared. An old farmer told me long ago when I first start raising chickens, "Chickens just die."

Conversing with Chickens #2

All week I'll be doing short, spur of the moment interviews with the chickens of Apifera. Like I said in the first interview, these chickens are busy, and have little desire for the spotlight, so expect brief, to the point answers. All answers are unrehearsed.

Papa Roo has been our main rooster from the arrival of the chickens, so he is at least 5 or 6 years old. He's not a cuddly rooster, like my beloved now departed Ward, nor is he that social, like the flashy Lyndon Baines was. Papa Roo and I have a polite, professional relationship. So when I asked him his question, I was not surprised by his brief response.

KD: "Papa Roo, do you ever have dreams or yearnings to be something you are not, like a dog or a horse?"

PR: He shook his had defiantly back and forth and rushed off.