In the beginning, we never planned to have roosters, but we didn't read the fine print that said there was a small percentage of error on sexing peeps on the first day of their life. Soon after our original batch of layers began to grow, we noticed something different about this one. It looked like a rooster.
Soon we were absolutely, positively sure he was a rooster, and thinking he was the only one, named him Rooster. You could say he was our first rooster, even though much later we were to discover three other of our 'hens' were also boys! They happened to already have girls' names that we could change to the masculine by adding an 'O'...thus Ava became the infamous Avo, etc. This is how Rooster became Rooster-o.
He was the smallest of all our roosters, and we never knew exactly what unusual breed he was. As a young cockerel, he excelled at sports, namely 'grape ball'. This is where we would toss a grape into the flock and he was like a quarterback that would run around dodging the other chickens who also wanted the prize.
Rooster-o was also a gentleman, always very kind to the ladies who, quite frankly, adored him. Especially the ill-behaved Egyptian Fayoumis. They knew he had the biggest wattles around and took advantage of that any chance they could get. He was the only rooster I could not easily pick up and handle--that is until he became sick. Because of this I never knew he was losing weight. Birds have a way of disguising illness by fluffing their feathers.
At first I thought he was malnourished from having a very hooked beak, which you may recall in an earlier post I clipped and filed. This definitely helped him eat more, and he had a voracious appetite up until the end. He regained his strength, and I moved him from the utility bathroom back into his coop apartment when the new peeps expanded into all our spare space.
But his health went slowly downhill. After the new flock moved into their coop, he came back in the house where I could more easily tend to him and he didn't have to endure the summer heat. I began cooking for him, meals that Farmer Rick says were better than what I cooked for us! In the afternoons I'd take him outside where he'd flirt with the hens from the comfort of my lap.
Farewell, Rooster-o, you will be missed by all of us!