Bidding Bob Buh-Bye

It was two long, grueling weeks of playing chicken, chicken, who's got the chicken. Bob, you see, couldn't stay in the coop another day with Blackbeard. Because once the decision was made for him to find a new home, well he just couldn't take the thought of not ever having that top roost again. It was late that Sunday afternoon that the Engineer came knocking at the door of Sheville and announced "Bob is all bloody". Panic struck my heart and I ran out to the coop. There he was, bloody alright. His waddles (those things that hang under his beak) had been torn and blood was everywhere.

I scooped him up and rushed him inside to clean him up. It wouldn't stop bleeding and I didn't have any blood stop powder handy so I had to pull out the flour canister and was attempting to hold Bob and douse him with flour at the same time. Bob was not impressed with or appreciative of my nursing skills. Gee, I don't know why dousing him with flour in my kitchen was making him so nervous. Needless to say I was making one heck of a mess. After finally getting the blood to stop flowing I was better able to assess his wounds.

He was looking down right pathetic with all his battle scars and whatnot on his comb and wattles. I couldn't let him meet his new lady friends looking like that so I had to come up with some creative place for Bob to stay while I subjected him to some spa treatments. You'll recall Beth was still on the back porch with her wounded foot. She and her sister Sammie had been living there for what seems like forever. Sammie's feet were healed, she was only there for moral support. Little Jack occupied the small plastic brooder next to their cage. And then of course there are the two dogs and the cat who thinks she's a dog that live out there too. What was I going to do with Bob?

Did I mention there was also a foot of snow on the ground? So when I had the brilliant idea to drag the parts of the old brooder from the barn onto the back porch and reassemble it, it wasn't exactly easy to do. But I managed. All by myself I might add. And so Sammie went to live back in the coop with Blackbeard and the Fat Bottom Girls and Bob and Beth got to live in their new deluxe 8'x3' cage. Note I then had TWO roosters living on the back porch. Crowing.


Luckily, Little Jack soon was delivered to his new owners. I'm happy to report they're pleased as punch with him and I might get some of his babies later this spring. Then it was just Bob. Crowing.

Did you know roosters don't just crow in the morning? Nope. They crow ALL DAY LONG. Whenever the mood strikes them. So when the guy came over to plow my driveway I had to quickly explain that I don't normally keep roosters in my house. He was just wounded and this was only temporary. And again when people stopped to buy eggs. And again when the water softener salt guys stopped, and the LP Gas guy and so on and so on. I assure you everyone in this small town now refers to me as "that crazy chicken lady". I can hear them saying "Ya know, she's got 'em livin' on her back porch."

Nice.

Anyway, Saturday, Valentines Day was the day Bob was going to finally meet his new ladies. Not that we picked that day for sentimental reasons. It was blacksmithing weekend and since the guys would be driving through the town where Bob's new family lives anyway it just made sense to wait until then. I got up early to get his delivery box ready and make sure he had a chance to get food and water before they left. He even got a special treat. Because even though he crowed day and night, tried to bite me and embarrassed me in front of the whole town I knew I was going to miss him terribly. When the kid and the engineer were ready to go I had to pull on my big girl panties and choke back the tears in my eyes as I put Bob in the delivery box.

You'll be happy to know his new owners are a nice young family. He has seven new ladies that they report are just tickled pink with Bob and he seems happy to finally be king of the roost.

Stupid bird. I don't need him anyway. *sniff*