I have three roosters.
Ivan, the standard Light Brahma
Hercules, the standard Blue Cochin
Jimmy, the youngest of the clan, a five month old Buff Orpington
During the early hours of the morning, long before the sun rises (go figure, I thought that roosters gave the signal for the sun to keep on risin'), these magestic beauties begin their rooster calls.
I can tell each voice, each is beautiful in its own (well, not sure about Jimmy's....yet). Jimmy is still in the "learning how to crow" stage. When he is outside later in the day, when he crows, he runs for the hills, until he figures out, that it was not a rooster on top of him, or right beside him, going to get him, but it is himself. Then he merrily begins to call. His voice is very high yet, has not reached that deep and throaty call of the other dudes. He sounds rather sickish, actually. If you have raised a cockeral, you will fully know well what that adolescent first calls of the cockeral sound like, rather bad, actually. Well, on to the story.
I am an early riser, myself, long before the sun thinks of getting up. These roosters are a fair distance from my house. But I can still hear them, one after the other, the other after the one. They are competing with the other far-off roosters that clearly must be in the vicinity. Ivan, that deep, throaty call, Hercules, very deep, and slightly longer than Ivan's, and then poor Jimmy. I don't say that with malice. One day, I am pretty sure he will be bigger than these other two monstrous sized roosters. Poor Jimmy. His call is high pitched, and definitely does not have the power, nor magnitude of the other two, so I wait, and I wait, one day, he will too be beautiful in voice, as is his stature so becoming.
These three dudes make my day. I love to watch them. They are great caretakers of their gals (except for Jimmy, he doesn't have a clan yet, he is still in with the youngsters). He shares a home with Hercules, and Hercules ensures that Jimmy doesn't bother his gals. Jimmy has not yet any girls yet. But soon, he must have his own clan to protect. That can and will be done. I love to watch how the older dudes walk around, speaking to the gals, to show them special tidbits of eating things they find. The way they shake their beautiful manes, that rooster head shake, their beautiful long feathers of their cape glisten so in the sun, and so shiney, so takes my breath away at times. I love my roosters, almost more than my hens. Ooops, hope they didn't hear my thoughts.
And then there is Sir Drake, the Muscovy drake. Another thing of beauty, in vision and in personality, he is nothing short of a magnificent thing. He moulted this past month. Slowly and surely, all his feathers have been replaced. Even the flight feathers. He was so dirty looking, guess the season was a very long one for him and so much playing in the dirt and muck made for a very ugileeeee looking drake. But now. Holy smokin' cadoodalhoppers. White as the driven show, from head to toe, save for the feathers that are black. He is nothing short of majestic now. I don't think the ducks care, not sure why they wouldn't, but they still love him. He is their leader, if he is not following them all gagalgook, they are following him, looking for the yummy foods that he points out to them. The life on a farm, wouldn't trade it for next to anything in the world. What a summer this has been, my life amongst the birds and the bees --- and children coming out my ears, smiling. Just some ramblin's coming from deep within my soul.....Have that most wonderful, most awesome day, most greatest of health. Cindi