There's a New Rooster on the Block

And no, I don't mean Parnell.

Lil Roo- a reasonably handsome red and white aracuna rooster - arrived this morning. He replaces Mr. Roo, who died from too much of the good life back in early June.

After living rooster-less for nearly two months, I discovered that a) hens are boring and b) I really missed the sound of a rooster - especially greeting me when I staggered home from a pub crawl somewhere south of midnight. No idea if my neighbors missed the 3 AM rooster calls, but since at least two of them have chickens, including several roosters, I didn't bother to poll the neighborhood on whether or not I should get a replacement.

So today Lil Roo arrived in a pet carrier - donated by an acquaintance who discovered that 50% of her sexed layers are roosters, not hens. For those new to chix tech-speak, "sexed" birds means those that supposedly had their gender determined prior to sale as layers, not, as one might suppose, birds with high sex drives.

Despite the prospect of being the only rooster in a yard of seven hens, Lil Roo had to be shaken out of his pet carrier. He is a young rooster and sized up next to the more robust older hens, quite small. He quickly realized this. Trotting around on the very tips of his toes, he began stretching his neck up and out as far as he could in a vain attempt to enlarge and enhance his size (a trait that male chickens share with their human counterparts).

Ah, but to no avail. Lil Roo failed to impress. The red hens moved in to make sure it was their pecking order that got established. After the dust from the chicken scrum settled, Lil Roo's feathers were decidedly ruffled, and quite a few of them pulled.

Attila the Hen moves in for the kill

Now, several hours later, the chicken cacophony has died down. A few minutes ago I went out to make sure it wasn't because Lil Roo was battered, bleeding and about to be dispatched by his harem. I found him quietly pecking in the small corner of the coop allowed him by the ladies, who were contentedly back to scratching for bugs and dust bathing. But Lil Roo is still on the short leash - every time he gets an amorous glint in his eye and makes overtures to one of the hens, he is severely trounced and forced back into his corner. What's a horny roo to do?

And now for something completely different...

...Chickens


Never doubt that I have some things to add to the latest offering from CabinDweller. Kudos to same for the top drawer and simple web research (nothing legislative staffers or gung ho enviros couldn't have done as well when preparing for and lobbying for this energy rebate deal) that points out some significant omissions in the current proffer of solutions to the great crude energy juggernaut* that is about to roll over us all.

But sometimes it is simply necessary to ignore these shibboleths and just take time to, well, take in chickens.


Chicken-watching: its the new Lexapro for this blogger.


Frequently, the end of the work day finds me sitting in my chicken coop with a glass of wine (or coffee if the evening's plans call for energetic efforts in garden, chopping wood, or socializing), watching chickens.


There is something supremely peaceful, nay zen-like, in observing these birds go about their avian business. There is the highly energetic scratching and shuffling, looking for bugs, grubs and other tasty treats. There is the favored dust pit in coop corner where the hens battle it out for the chance to get down and dirty, and then there is just the simple contemplation of a species born bipedal with no additional means to obtain food except by pecking. Of course, this is true of all birds, but somehow it has intrigued me most with chickens; perhaps this is the outcome of just too much wine in the coop.

Chickens do not deserve their reputation as being very stupid. That is true of the "bred to be dead" Cornish Cross meat birds, who waddle around like mini T-Rexs on steroids, but not true of layers, or your basic barn yard run chicken. Chickens have personalities and they are quite engaging. Then again, perhaps this particular paen to chickens could also be attributed to too much wine, then and now.

Regardless, I do think that sitting with the chickens (not to be confused with running with the bulls or dancing with the wolves) beats Lexapro hands down. Its cheaper, there are no side effects, and no withdrawal. Best of all, there's fresh eggs, and a ready and willing recycle team for weeds, veggies past their prime, stale bread and other leftovers.

* coined by the Brits during their empiric occupation of India; derived from the Sanskrit Jagannatha , one of the many names of Krishna, and referencing the multi-ton chariots carrying statues of Krishna that at times crushed festival participants.

Hats off to the Men in Black

Corrupt Bastards Chickens Come Home to Roost
I am not usually a big, vocal fan of law enforcement, but a shout out to our local FBI agents who have outdone themselves in white collar crime investigation - rooting out not only the Rev. and Mrs. Hayes (who are beginning to look like very small potatoes compared to the Lemon Creek* gang) but also the "Honorable" Senators A & B, Representatives Kohring and Kott, former Representatives Weyhrauch and Anderson and now the Messieurs Allen and Smith.

These are the salad days, my friends, for those of us who have endured four years of "Frank-the-Bank" and his cronies, and have, for even longer, watched Big Oil and its arrogant minions thumb their noses at the people of this state - many of whom are living in remote communities in decidedly third-world conditions. To say nothing of the rest of us who struggle to meet our monthly bills as fuel and electricity rates skyrocket while Big Oil posts record obscene annual profits and cries poverty whenever the lege proposes additional taxes or royalty increases that would go towards stopping the State from giving away Alaska's oil for practically nothing.

This promises to be juicy for months to come - with many memorable quotes as the sordid story unfolds. To start, here are some of my current favs, along with my editorial comments:

"I just want to be the warden in Barbados", Kott [People, savor the irony in this one. Seems more likely to be a federal pen in the lower 48 and a stint as inmate not warden for our soon-to-be defrocked Kott]

"You'll get your gas line, the governor gets his bill, and I'll get my job in Barbados ", Kott to Smith, a VECO vice president, referring to his desire for the plum job of warden at a new prison in Barbados under construction by VECO.

"I'm going to get this fucking gas line done so I can get out of here", Kott in a January 2006 phone call to Bill Allen [kudos to the wire tap team]

"Mr. Stevens was surprised [and no doubt dismayed] to learn that Bill Allen and Rick Smith pleaded guilty to various federal crimes today and hopes that neither one of them is falsely [heaven forbid] accusing former and current members of the Alaska state Legislature of crimes in order to mitigate the consequence of their own admitted criminality [last-ditch and weak effort to save his client's ass]." John Wolf, attorney representing Senator Ben Stevens; editorial comments mine.

"The public doesn't give a damn what I do for my money", Ben Stevens in 1994 [sorry, Ben, indeed, the public does give a damn how you earn your money, considering you are supposed to be representing all your constituents, not just the ones that line your pocket with cash.]

"I own your ass", Allen to Kott (federal allegation)[need any more be said??]

"[Kohring] would kiss our ass", Allen to Smith after Allen gave Kohring $1,000; (federal allegation)

I have little doubt that tomorrow's news will reveal that the mysterious Senator B is indeed Ben Stevens...let's see what your daddy can do for you now, Ben!

Note: Mr Roo and his ladies agreed to pose as models only on the condition that it be known that they come by their chicken feed honestly and legally

*local state pen in Juneau