This is Amy. Amy is a rooster. In the past week, Amy has changed from amusing nuisance to a mean, testosterone filled, useless creature.
In short, he's forcing himself on the hens. Everyday this week I've come home to one of them shrieking as he pins her down and has his way. While Tori is apparently too old for his taste, and Gladys' babies are too young, the three two-year old girls--Gladys, Joni, and Bonnie--are all missing patches of feathers from his rough wooing.
The other day I thought he'd killed poor Joni. Like, she was so still and had her head flopped over in such a funny way that I went and dug a hole to bury her in. It was only when I went back to actually pick her up that I realized she was just playing dead to avoid him.
She has since relocated from the coop to the shed, hiding behind the rakes and shovels. I felt so bad for her that I set up food and water in there even, so that she doesn't have to go outside for any reason if she doesn't want to.
And the big, dumb rooster isn't even doing a good job protecting the hens. The other day Orange Cat--a neighborhood stray--was skulking around the yard, stalking one of the babies. But did the rooster step in? Oh no. He enjoyed a lunch and a dust bath as Gladys and Tori chased off old Orange-y.
The happiest moment of my week was yesterday morning when I thought he'd been eaten in the night. But then, when we got home from work, he was back again molesting the hens.
Grrr....suffice to say, Mr. Amy's time in this world is limited.
We can't kill him in town. I've looked up the ordinances, and it's clearly illegal. So the plan is to take him out to our friends' house in the country and do the deed there. Right now we're just trying to find an agreeable date and time. While he will, of course, be humanely dispatched, there have been moments this week when I think I could have wrung his neck with my bare hands!