Good Morning, Jeff Bridges!
It is difficult to get inside the mind of a rooster. Their almost reptilian eyes make it hard to imagine what is going on inside their tiny skulls. I found myself trying to do just that, however, when we had four roosters left behind after moving our hens from their winter shelter back onto their summer pasture. Somehow we’d ended up with seven or so roosters in our flock, and since we didn’t need any of them, the C.F. decided to leave some at the house to eat bugs and scare snakes away.
The first day the hens were gone, the roosters’ sole purpose—impressing the ladies—had been taken away. They continued to strut and ruffle themselves impressively and crow excessively, but they seemed lost, their actions empty without an audience. They were like teenage boys with no girls to wow with their antics.
Since these were very free range birds, the inevitable soon happened—and then there were three. Then two. When we were down to just one Ameraucana and one Barred Rock, they teamed up, foraging throughout the day together, and often roosting together at night. This camaraderie was touching, but it didn’t hold off the predators, who eventually left us with just one.
The Ameraucana is a silly-looking bird. His head, neck, and breast are covered with a blonde cascade of feathers that he shakes to dramatic effect. When he was the last rooster standing, he bonded with our goats. The kids took to chasing him, and you could tell that it annoyed him at first but they won him over, like children befriending the neighborhood curmudgeon. But soon we moved the goats onto their summer pasture, and he was alone again.
That is when he bonded with us. He became comfortable coming onto the porch in the morning to crow loudly and repeatedly. When we sat outside, he would scratch around in the dirt nearby hoping for a treat, which we usually gave him. We named him Cogburn, after Rooster Cogburn in True Grit (which takes place in Fort Smith and nearby Oklahoma, and everyone should see it if they haven’t already). When my mother came to visit, she could never remember the name Cogburn, so we renamed him Jeff Bridges, who played Rooster Cogburn in the recent production. So now we can say, “Good morning, Jeff Bridges!” or more frequently, “Jeff Bridges, be quiet! You’ll wake the baby!” It hasn’t yet ceased to amuse.
And this past week Jeff Bridges has had his wildest dreams fulfilled. Our neighbor, whose chickens had gone broody, wanted to borrow a rooster, and requested Jeff Bridges for his stud services. He’s now in rooster heaven-on-earth. We can still hear him faintly in the mornings from the neighbor’s yard, and his crow seems to have a little extra vivacity to it.
The first day the hens were gone, the roosters’ sole purpose—impressing the ladies—had been taken away. They continued to strut and ruffle themselves impressively and crow excessively, but they seemed lost, their actions empty without an audience. They were like teenage boys with no girls to wow with their antics.
Since these were very free range birds, the inevitable soon happened—and then there were three. Then two. When we were down to just one Ameraucana and one Barred Rock, they teamed up, foraging throughout the day together, and often roosting together at night. This camaraderie was touching, but it didn’t hold off the predators, who eventually left us with just one.
The Ameraucana is a silly-looking bird. His head, neck, and breast are covered with a blonde cascade of feathers that he shakes to dramatic effect. When he was the last rooster standing, he bonded with our goats. The kids took to chasing him, and you could tell that it annoyed him at first but they won him over, like children befriending the neighborhood curmudgeon. But soon we moved the goats onto their summer pasture, and he was alone again.
That is when he bonded with us. He became comfortable coming onto the porch in the morning to crow loudly and repeatedly. When we sat outside, he would scratch around in the dirt nearby hoping for a treat, which we usually gave him. We named him Cogburn, after Rooster Cogburn in True Grit (which takes place in Fort Smith and nearby Oklahoma, and everyone should see it if they haven’t already). When my mother came to visit, she could never remember the name Cogburn, so we renamed him Jeff Bridges, who played Rooster Cogburn in the recent production. So now we can say, “Good morning, Jeff Bridges!” or more frequently, “Jeff Bridges, be quiet! You’ll wake the baby!” It hasn’t yet ceased to amuse.
And this past week Jeff Bridges has had his wildest dreams fulfilled. Our neighbor, whose chickens had gone broody, wanted to borrow a rooster, and requested Jeff Bridges for his stud services. He’s now in rooster heaven-on-earth. We can still hear him faintly in the mornings from the neighbor’s yard, and his crow seems to have a little extra vivacity to it.
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