We’ve had to bring one of our roosters inside, partly to make room for the last round of chicks in the chicken shack, partly because it’s still too cold for him to be outside. His name is Romeo and he’s the sweetest, most non-pooping rooster we have. Twice I’ve sat him on my lap while watching the tube and gave him big pats. He closed his eyes, settled in, and nearly fell asleep. I felt like Koko petting All Ball (look it up): one big lumbering species tending another, much smaller one. Then last night he shuffled from his perch on the back of the couch, climbed onto my shoulder, and hunkered down. It was a very weird sensation – all those rustling feathers next to my ear, sort of like an old lady’s hat, minus the Chanel Number Two.
So Romeo’s my new buddy. I’ll be bringing him a whole bevy of hens to hump when the good weather returns, so I guess that makes me his pimp. Ah, well, I suppose everyone needs to have a higher purpose.
