Apparently, He's Here To Stay

 Have you lost a rooster? He's at my place. Don't know where he came from but he's decided to stay. I don't think he's leaving either. He's fallen in love.

No, not with Goldy, the Buff Orpington hen, here who belongs to the neighbors and comes over to flirt and share a meal. Nope, he's fallen in love with our oldest doe, Chicory.  He sleeps with her and he roosts on her back when the ground is too cold for his feet. I know this because I've occasionally  seen poo on her back. He hasn't even paid the chicken in the coop any never mind. Nope, he has set his eyes on tall, dark, and sweet Chicory.

You might think I would be shocked but I've been around the barn too many times and have seen the darnedest things. Animals can have the funniest relationships. We once had a poor sheep that's wool was always soaked from our steer that about licked her to death. No, not literally but he tore down so much fence trying to get to her that we finally just gave in and put her in his pen. The poor wooly thing looked always as if she was having a bad wooly day. Her wool pressed over this way and that like a teenage boy just up from a long nap. The feelings weren't mutual either. I swear she rolled her eyes every time he stuck out his tongue to give her a wet slimy kiss. But what choice did she have? She couldn't run away on her stubby little legs and she couldn't out wrestle something that weighed over a 900 pounds more than she did. Nope, tolerance was the only way to go.   

I wasn't going to name the Barred Rock rooster but the a couple days ago the name Sherman popped into my head. He was probably tired of being called rooster and I'm sure he send me the message telepathically, " My name is Sherman." Don't laugh, I swear the animals talk to me. I'd just wish they would keep the negative comments to themselves.

I don't mind Sherman, he follows me in and out of the milking shed and cocks his reddish eye at me, sending me the clear messages that he'd sure like a little something for the rumbling in his stomach. Other than that and a visit with the hoard of barn cats that show up every time I arrive, he pretty much hangs out in the does' pen. How can you not love a rooster like that?

 And if you are wondering why I put the bright fuchsia pink rag on the fence. It's to remind me that ooooops a daisy hurts. Yup, see that patch of ice lurking under the snow to the right of the rag? It's as smooth as glass and impossible to maneuver, especially when your hands are carrying a bucket of water and with feed. So forgetful here, decided that if she can't remember all on her own despite biffing it a few times, then she needed a little reminder. It's worked like a charm. So please be kind, and if you see this flag, leave it. My backside is feeling a whole lot better now with out testing the hardness of the ground on a regular basis.