Wake Up!

It is the duty of every rooster to wake up the sun.  How else could the day begin?  There must be mornings when the boys would much rather sleep in, but they heed the call, waking in the dark to start vocalizing.  Mine are not the only roosters on the hill, but they are usually the first to clock in on the job.  The lazybones across the hill hit the snooze button a couple of times, but then chime in to help raise the sun.  There is a wide range of tone, and each Chanticleer has his individual vocabulary of welcome.  The barred rock rooster has a loud clarion call, whereas the flashy black-and-white Araucana sings out with a raspy croak.  He does his best, but he's never going to be picked to lead the chorus.  The Silkies outnumber all the others.  They try to make up in unified volume what they lack in size, but they continue to speak a different language, never quite getting the "cockadoodle-doo" to come out without an accent.  I wonder if roosters get depressed on overcast or rainy days, taking it personally and feeling they've failed their job when the sun doesn't appear.  All are present and accounted for this morning; we're all just waiting for sunrise.

The barred rock and Rhodie pullets in the big yard have started laying the little beginner eggs that are no larger than the full-grown Silkies'.  The Araucana girls have yet to kick in; I'm still waiting to see what colors they will lay.  Because the established hens have slowed down production, I've had to give my egg customers an eighteen-pack, giving additional small eggs to make up the equivalent of a dozen of the large.

There was a hen party of another sort yesterday.  Judy and I had agreed we needed a day out and drove up the road a piece for lunch, and it was such a nice surprise when we were joined by Judy's daughter Shari.  None of us are big socializers, but we had such a good time we've decided to make it a regular event.

The roosters can go back to bed now; they've done their job.  The sun is just getting up.