Chicken Chicken was a rescue of sorts. Some folks had decided a flock of chickens would be a good thing. They didn’t think it all the way through. What do you do with those cute fluffies when some end up future roos? These folks dumped their baby roo off at a local vet’s. That vet then passed it to a farmer friend, who already had enough testosterone in her henhouse. That farmer passed the, by now teen cockerel, off to my daughter. After a quarantine phase, we introduced him to the flock. It was rough. He’d never had a chance to learn the ways of chickens. Eventually, he found a place chasing crows away from our apples and sleeping in an old bunny hutch. He never accepted the other chickens and they never accepted him. He grew into a beauty. One day, he woke up and decided he was interested in the hens. That was a disaster. Bedlam. Running, screaming hens and two flustered senior roosters were now trying to cope with a chicken sociopath. This is what happens when folks get chickens and don’t think it all the way through. Someone ELSE has to break out the gumbo pot.