You can’t keep roosters in our town. This is not necessarily a bad thing, but the girls are growing up quickly (not quickly enough to survive our cold spring days) and Mister thinks that Izzy and Minnie might be little men.
This bums me out to no end as Izzy, her (his?) scrawny little buldgey head and all, is my favorite in a world where I try very hard not to play favorites. She jumps on the roost and talks to me through the cage.
She pecks at everything. She peeps and I peep back. She looks at me when I call her name.
Hens get combs (the red flap on the top of the beak) but they aren’t as pronounced as roosters’. Mister thinks that Izzy’s developing comb looks rooster-ish.
I am so sad. Look at that little chicken face.
We are also in a great predicament. If two of the three are roosters, that leaves us one hen who will be very lonely (and might die as a result of loneliness) while we sort out new chicks. I think I could find homes for the other kids with students who have ranches, but what about Lala? I’m not ready to get rid of all of them. (We’re not ready to get rid of any of them but we are preparing ourselves.)