My first flock consisted of Rupert the Rooster and a Buff Orpington I named Betty. Later, I raised three more pullets, one of which was another Buff Orpington. Betty and Rupert were apparently an item, despite the presence of the other Sister Hens.
All went well with the lovebirds. They even roosted together. Then a few weeks ago, tragedy struck the happy couple. Betty started looking puny. I did check to make sure she wasn't egg-bound. Yes, I used rubber gloves for the procedure, which we will not dwell upon. She passed away quietly in the night. I said a few words and gave her a burial at sea, ultimately. The bridge is so handy.
The younger gold hen, Buffy, who had been peacefully pecking without a thought in her tiny brain, was suddenly the object of Rupert's attentions. There were many outraged squawks from Buffy. Rupert had no idea why his soul mate was suddenly running from him.
He was becoming downright abusive, holding her head down on the ground without even trying to mount her. Understandably, she became nervous. Several times, she was found outside the fence. It was easy to coax her back inside with the food bowl, even though it contained clover and she was knee-deep in clover.
I tried leaving Rupert out and the girls inside, but he flew the coop run and had to be rounded up before one of the dogs got him. I was tempted to let them have a go at it. The other two hens had discovered the trick of staying close to him and moving when he did, so he could never get at them. "Looklooklook," he said, offering choice bits of greens on the ground in front of them. They might be dumb clucks, but they knew what the dinner would entail and found their own greens.
One day, Lissa and I decided to put Rupert in the fenced garden, to give Buffy a day of shelter in a safe house. Lissa is a Champeen Chicken Wrangler, an expert at catching huge roosters. Somehow, during the ensuing melee in the chicken run, Buffy got out.
At that point the neighbor dog got hold of the hen, bit her and snatched off her tail feathers. Lis rescued her.
When it came time to put Rupert in for the night, he flew over the garden fence and headed across the field toward the neighbors, where several more dogs were waiting for such an opportunity for a big easy target. Lissa was able to herd him back and we got him inside the coop.
Buffy, now thoroughly alarmed, took to staying on top of the nest box, where it was difficult for Rupert to get at her. Quietly regrowing her tail feathers, she only made brief forays into the run, where Rupert did his Foghorn Leghorn imitation, striding out to capture his lady love. She zipped around like crazy before flying back up to the safety of the nest box top.
This sounds absurd, but now I have to stand guard while she comes down for some water, krumbles and greens. This can't go on.
