Brewster, the beautiful rooster, lives in a hen house in our back yard. He is the tallest and most magnificent of all the birds there. There are six red and six white fowl residing together and sadly, the pecking order was determined and poor Brewster, my red, red rooster stands in the corner avoiding the bullies in the yard.
The white hens are fat and fancy and have no time for poor Brewster. They are self absorbed and like to be petted and adored. Brewster stands to the side, avoiding being pecked. He has just begun to crow and it's much like a boy going through puberty as his Cockadoodledoo is raspy and broken. It's more like an "Er-er eh." I'm hoping he will puff that chest out, get a good breath of air and put those hens in their place. While they are rude to Brewster, they are exceptional egg layers and we get a dozen fresh eggs every morning, six brown and six white. Strangely, I've found much enjoyment visiting the hen house to collect eggs. It's like an Easter egg hunt every day. You never really know how many eggs will be in which nest. The girls beam when you enter, proud of their day's work. Brewster stands in the corner with the five red ladies and tries to avoid eye contact.
With a dozen eggs a day, we've been giving them away to everyone we know. There is something magical about a carton of multi-cultural eggs split down the middle with six white and six brown eggs. They make great gifts because if we don't give them away, I'll quickly have dozens of eggs in my fridge.
At 4:30 this morning, I sat on the patio hoping to hear the rooster crow. As I sipped my coffee, I made rooster sounds in an attempt to mentor the poor guy. No crowing was heard. When the last of the coffee was gone and the sun had still not come up over the horizon, I headed back in to bed. Just as the door was almost closed, there was a faint "Er, eh" sound from the wood line. My boy was up and the day was ready to begin.
Because it was still dark outside, though, I returned to bed for a few more hours of sleep. The ladies were busy laying, I was sleeping, and Brewster was crowing. The farm is well.
