When the protection racket fails to produce a beneficial outcome
Huey Newton is a bad boy, a hard case, a tough guy. It was kind of the point, and how he got his name. The problem is, he’s so disruptive that we had to kick him out of the house for being too aggressive with the ladies. Now he’s running around the compound, unsure of his place in the world, not quite as cocksure as he once was, but not entirely defeated either. He is a man without a mission, and this is disorienting.
Huey was terrorizing the ladies to the extent that they had stopped producing, which can happen from time to time, and someone was physically abusing the two new girls from Rhode Island. I can’t be sure it was Huey, but when there is unrest in the coop, the blame usually goes to the cock-of-the-walk.
Either way, Huey was making everyone nervous. Every time I entered the enclosure to fill the feeder and clean the waterer, he would try to attack me, which is a little short-sighted on his part, you have to admit. Huey is a chicken, a rooster to be precise, an all black one. There are no whites to his eyes, and even his meat is supposedly black.
I imagine his heart to be black as night.
The balls on a rooster are impressive. Figuratively speaking, of course, as a chicken’s testicles are internal. The thing is, I weigh 200 lbs, and he weighs maybe five or six, so I’m not sure he fully grasps the situation he’s dealing with. He has drawn blood before, so maybe the joke’s on me, but he needs to understand that I’m simply defending myself and not actually fighting back. If he were ever to unleash my rage, he’s going to end up in a stock pot before he can say cock-a-doodle-doo, or worse, crab bait.
I finally kicked him out a day ago.
The thinking is that he’ll eventually get picked off by a predator, either a raptor from above, such as an osprey, hawk, or eagle, or a nocturnal animal such as a raccoon, weasel, coyote, fox, opossum, or owl. This is more appealing to me than just catching and killing him. Despite my empty threats, I have no intention of eating him. We keep chickens for eggs, not meat. Let nature take its course, I say. Live by the claw, die by the claw.
This morning, he came running across the yard the moment he saw me, and spent the morning hanging around the back door. I went outside on the deck and sat with him for a bit. He seemed content to hang around. I didn’t bother him, and he didn’t bother me. I began thinking maybe he would behave himself as long as he wasn’t confined in the coop and feeling protective of the hens. Maybe he’d just be a yard chicken for a while.
Then I took the market umbrella down for the season and took it to the shed for storage, and when I walked back, he ran right up on me and tried to attack me from the rear. I had to swat him back with my foot a few times and couldn’t fully turn my back on him. If I were wearing jeans and boots, I’d have ignored him, but I’m wearing linen shorts and flip flops. He did scratch me, but what I first thought was blood was just dirt. He left a mark, though. Insolent little black-hearted bastard.
Huey crows at all hours of the day and night. Once you get used to it, it’s kinda nice, as it becomes part of the natural soundscape, along with tree frogs, cicadas, squirrels, songbirds, and seagulls. It’s the soundtrack to our life here in Goshen, New Jersey, and I enjoy it.
That said, his attitude is far from optimal, let alone acceptable for a peaceful barnyard. I was happy to allow him to be a dick to me, as long as he kept the hens safe from predators, but they stopped laying eggs because it was just too hectic in the coop, and that runs counter to his purpose or value.
We have no use for a rooster. He’s an empty mouth to feed. He was purely decorative, with a tiny upside for defense against predators. Making a nuisance out of himself was not part of the deal, and to be honest, a bit of a deal breaker. Jane didn’t even really want a rooster. I thought it might be fun. Our roosters in the past have always been docile, gentle, beautiful birds.
This isn’t what I signed up for.
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