The Bigger The Comb, The Cockier the Rooster

I gathered the girls together this morning for a little talk.  I was pretty sure they’d been lurking in the crawl space under the house yesterday — listening to the TV.  I was interested  in their take on happenings beyond the coop.

Of course, they don’t understand voting.  But they do get the pecking order and who’s in charge.  Right now, since there is no rooster in our little flock, Little Red Hen is the leader.  Next comes Clara.  Last is Slutvana.  When we had a rooster, it was a different situation.  He was in charge.  Period.

If a second rooster should enter the picture,  a lot depends upon the size of his comb — the bigger the better, apparently. Often, if there are two wannabes, they will fight to the death in order to be head honcho.  When our little flock has been so unlucky as to hatch out more than one guy,  we’ve  always managed to separate them by locking up the trouble-maker.  Then we re-home him and things settle down.  We are told that if there is a big flock and enough real estate, two roosters can divvy things up and there is some measure of détente. Neither our flock nor our yard has ever been that large.

In which fowl group does he fit?

So, when I asked this morning, the girls did a lot of cluck-clucking.  Were they saying that two cocks-of-the-walk won’t work — even if there is only one that’s official?  Were they pointing out that as long as there’s another who only “thinks” he’s the rightful leader, there will confusion and dissension?  Were they reminding me of how it works in  chickendom and and suggesting that it won’t be any different out in the greater coop of America?

“So what should happen next?” I asked.  Of course, there was no definite answer.  The entire situation was beyond their experience.  Three choices, they thought:  Lock up the old one and re-home him, or prepare for a lot of violence, or separate part of the flock and set up the wannabe doodle with them. (I believe we tried that once when Jefferson Davis was around; it didn’t go well.)

Or that’s what I think they said.  It’s always hard it tell with chickens.