An Ugly Update

Chickens are not pets.

They are small livestock.

They are prey.

They are dinosaurs.

They terrorize our garden.

They poop everywhere.

They are, for the most part, a pain in the ass.

And chicken mating?

It can be triggering to witness because it’s far from consensual.

Regularly, the rooster will forcibly hold down a hen by biting her neck feathers with his beak and steadying himself on her back with his feet like a hanky panky piggy back ride. It’s aggressive. It’s rough. It’s brief.

The hens don’t develop the level of emotional trauma that humans do. That’s not to say that hens aren’t affected, but they just don’t approach mating the way humans do.

Most of the time, when it ends, the hen stands up and shakes, as if to say, “Glad that’s over.”

Most of the time.

The other day we had an instance where the hen didn’t get up when the rooster dismounted.

Instead, the rooster’s aggression left her injured. He ripped out feathers from her back - cutting and exposing her bare skin - and left her with a limp. She couldn’t even hobble away. We scooped her up and isolated her to heal in peace. She spent the next few days in an old dog crate with her own food and water.

The night of the incident, Drew sharpened the hatchet.

Roosters can have very different personalities, and if they don’t settle down and play nice with the hens, most people recommend a one way ticket to Camp Crockpot.

That’s strike one. He’s been bringing them food, escorting them to the coop at bedtime, and behaving in their social hierarchy, but we are preparing to add him to our freezer when the time comes.

I say prepared - not ready - because I don’t know if we’ll ever feel 100% ready. Death is a brutal thing. But so is regret.