I love a good cup of coffee in the mornings. I have a wonderful flower garden in my back yard that I like to walk through and look over, dead heading the flowers, and even sometimes water . With the birds chirping, squirrels chasing each other up and down the oak trees, and the sound of the small waterfall in my fish pond, it's my little piece of paradise on earth. Lately, my routine has been to fix my coffee and take it and my camera into the chicken pen, have a seat on my official Queenly throne ( it's a cinder block) in one of the corners and open the chickens' door, as I announce , " Let's get ready to rumbllllllllleeee" in my best announcers voice.
driver about to loose his sponsor. They all run at full speed,
legs pumping, wings flapping all the way until they reach the end of the pen, when suddenly somewhere, a bell that only they can hear rings,
and it has suddenly become World Class Chicken Wrestling Federation.
At 9 weeks old the cockerels ( or young roosters, of which I have 11 in this pen ) have started sparring with each other. This usually starts with a staring contest, running at each other with thier heads down threateningly then bobbing heads up and down, next comes chest bumping or flying at each other feet first.
All this is practice for when the real fighting begins over who is the going to be the dominant rooster of the flock. After all, whoever wins gets breeding rights to 7 lovely ladies. Luckily for my guys, most of them already have a destiny chosen and won't have to worry about fighting to the top in order to rule the roost.
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