I used to have a rock-solid list of “nevers.” Most of them revolved around parenting my as-yet-to-have-been-conceived perfectly matched set of two children. You know the list, right? “I’ll never spank my kids.” “I’ll never give my kids junk food.” “I’ll never say it’s bedtime at 6 p.m. just so I can get two hours of peace before I fall asleep on the couch.”
Don’t judge.
Anyhow, I’ve since repented of a myriad “nevers” and thrown myself wholeheartedly into the camp that says the only hard and fast no fly zones are clearly outlined in the Bible and the rest? Open for interpretation on an as-needed basis.
Which is probably how we found ourselves roaming the aisles of the local far’s poultry barn, picking out a rooster.
All the arguments against a male bird went out the window when we lost our second hen to a particularly crafty hawk. They crow? Awesome! They are territorial? Bring it on! They don’t want anyone messing with their ladies? Perfect.
Meet Captain.
Captain is a one year-old blue Cochin rooster. He’s pretty quiet. Not terribly aggressive. And already earning his keep by herding the girls in and out of the house like a boss.
Turns out, when I said we’d never get a roo, I was wrong. And tomorrow, I’ll be wrong about something else.