Exciting times – you treat them like ladies and they act like boys…

I gave them respectable lady-like names: Devon and Delilah. They only played with other hens; they should not have even been aware of how boy-chickens behave. I restricted their reading material to pro-women pamphlets and Margaret Thatcher’s auto-biography. I swore Deo to silence.

Don’t mention cocks, I said.

The worms must’ve whispered. They’re all about reproduction.

So my cute little chicks turned into burly roosters and ‘loved’ my other hens with an aggressive two to three ratio. It got messy. The roosters grew. The hens suffered. There was blood. Torn combs, pulled feathers, red streaks on their eggs.

Delilah, I said. It’s game over for you.

Why me? he asked.

I looked at his feet.

Really? he said.

Feathers where there should not be feathers, I said. It’s just a little weird.

Cock, he said.

I didn’t want to tell Delilah, but Devon is the larger, more majestic bird. Also Devon is a bi-sexual name while Delilah is an all out girl’s name. But the feathery feet certainly played into my decision to axe Delilah.

AXE! said Delilah.

Figure of speech, I said.

I took Delilah back to the farm from whence she/he came and swapped her/him for two little chicks. The farm only had one 7 week old Plymouth Rock hen (properly sexed this time), so I took an Easter Egger who looks like a falcon. But then I noticed the farmer had Black Maran’s and other cool Easter Eggers and Ameraucanas, and this is what happened:

Opps.

At least Devon is happy:

When the little Plymouth Rock hen grows up I may try and hatch some of her eggs…