I whirled around and our eyes met. She looked right at me and crowed again.
He, rather. He looked at me directly while he let out that squeaky, pre-pubescent, yet unmistakable crow. I laughed to myself, wishing there was someone else around at 7 AM to have witnessed this chicken clearing up my burning hen-v-rooster question.
Now all those little things I was noticing--his brighter coloring, his erect stature, his red comb--seem like clear signs of his chickie manhood. Poor little guy had to actually crow at me to set me straight.
|This is Gertie--a definite female. The difference is quite obvious to me now.|
And luckily my chicken-raising coworker is open to adding another rooster to her flock. Living in a more rural situation, she can have the noisier roosters without upsetting neighbors.
I don't want to separate anyone from my flock, but I also don't want a loud bird in the back that will wake the neighbors. My coworkers wisely instructed me that it won't be a problem as far as the eggs are concerned--apparently those who eat farmer's market eggs often eat fertilized huevos. It's simply a matter of collecting the eggs before the hens go "broody" and decide they want to sit on them to hatch 'em.
Still, I can't be that neighbor who wakes everyone up at the crack of dawn with a cock-a-doodle-doo. Not a great way to make friends on the street.
So Floss, who is now a Floyd, will find a new home. And now I anxiously watch Peepsie and Glennie's combs for signs of super redness. Theirs are bigger than those of the other girls. I'm sure they'll have to crow at me to make me know for sure, so I'm waiting. I've got my fingers crossed for girls!