Rambo and Guido

They were brothers, or rather, they were from the same nest. One can never know with our gregarious, heterozygotic gallus gallus. The hens lay in each others' nests and the guys, well, they are guys. So we never know. At any rate Guido and Rambo were virtually identical except that Rambo had little dark tips on each of his neck feathers. Most attractive, in my opinion. Guido was gorgeous too, shiny and fiery, and they both met with more than enough approval from the chicks, that is, when Henry wasn't looking. I loved watching them strut around posturing for the hens. They got more than their share of adolescent action but apparently the joke was on them.

Flyboys

Roosters fly…but not unless they have to. I've never seen them flying around just for the pure pleasure of it as you or I surely would if we had the ability. They seem to reserve flying for emergencies or to press a competitive advantage in finding dinner.

Out of the dozen or so roosters in our yard only Rusty, Irving and Juantu figured out that flying up on the wall was the best place in town for a good filling meal. They were my Flyboys. I would shake the peanut can and they would fly up with voracious enthusiasm but they weren't into dining together in a peaceful, congenial manner as I would have liked so I could get my shot. This spot was reserved for a solo experience. Even though I would keep dishing out the seeds and there was plenty for all, they would fight over who got the spot. They would play "knock the other guy off the wall" and then gorge themselves as fast as they could before the next guy flew up and "did unto them".

I don't know why the others never caught on, they would just look up and wonder, hmmmmmm…I guess they were chicken.

Firebirds

Politics and power are the basis of the socio/economic structure of chicken life. There is one dictatorial cock with big spurs who rules the roost, in our yard it's Henry. The hens stay in alignment with his protection policies (sexual favors and furthering his line) as long as he continues to assert his dominance. If he doesn't prevail in a confrontation and gets wounded, he loses status and the chicks find someone new.

Henry has maintained the strongman position even though it's cost him and eye and a brother. Juan, the poor devil, tried to go up against his own nest mate and he was so defeated and bedraggled he just went off into the forest and we never saw him again.

The young cockerels are continually testing each other in practice sparring until the day one feels ready to attempt a coup. We've seen some good roosters go down. Gimpy and Guido both ended up lame from cockfights and others have been banished to the hinterlands in ignominy, others form into splinter groups and insurgents.

Henry must ever be up for the challenge.

Moa Love

Oh, how the chicken class resembles our own species' mating game. The guys are expected to put on a good show for the ladies. Rooster plumage is the human equivalent of being good looking, rich and driving a Lamborghini — it shows in the clothes. Although I've seen human ladies who will accept a guy with raggedy plumage "IF" he's got expensive accouterments!

Beneath the show is desire but the game has rules. He's got to perform before he's allowed to, er, perform.

The hen pretends not to notice how gorgeous he is but believe me, she is recording every detail. She feigns a preoccupation with seedpecking but she has the corner of her eye trained on Mr. Beautiful and she makes sure her tail is held in a provocative posture.

He's got an eye cocked in her direction as well, and circles her perimeter in a centripetal spiral that leads him closer to his mark with each lap. He lowers one shoulder and drags his wing on the ground as he side steps into her personal space. Then he makes his move…and then…well, it's all over, I'm talking 45 seconds! Anticlimactic is an understatement, for human ladies, this could be good or bad…depending on one's inner motive.