soggy donkey herder on Nostr: Beyoncé is the most testosterone-poisoned creature I’ve ever had a working ...
Beyoncé is the most testosterone-poisoned creature I’ve ever had a working relationship with, bless his heart.
Bey has exactly four classifications of Other Creatures in his head: hens to mate with, other roosters to fight, threats to fight or flee from, and … me. I’m very confusing to him. Sometimes I’m a threat, but usually I help him watch out for threats. I’m not a hen, but his hens love me and all run to see me.
Lately, he’s realized that I toss out the grain food, but I only feed the really good mealworms from my hand. So he’s been learning to eat from my hand, and it’s very funny to watch. He has no chill and he’s inclined to peck the other hens in the head before he pecks my gloved hand as hard as possible, but once he realizes that nobody is gonna fight him, he’ll settle down and eat.
He’s got a big attack radius, and I’m usually really careful about not setting him off. If I have to walk between him and his hens, I move really slowly and keep an eye on him. If I want to offer him a treat, I’ll approach with my hand out, then stop and wait for him to invite me in. He’ll pick up and drop a twig a few times to let me know he’s willing to see what I’ve got, and then I go into his space.
But this morning Zelda just wanted to eat some breakfast, and Presley snagged her on the way out of the coop. She’s at least as big as him and he’d missed the neck, so she was just dragging him toward the food, squawking up a storm, while he held onto her back feathers. I went storming over and Presley gave up. Zelda made a break for the food right as two pounds of fury bounced off my calf. Big shout-out to my French terry sweatpants for keeping my skin unscratched! I turned around and poked Bey with the feed scoop until he stopped, then gave him another lil handful of bugs as a peace offering. My bad, little friend.
Roosters have these very hard-wired *rules,* you see. They look at the sky way more often than hens do. They share food, but only with hens. They’re always down to fuck. And it’s always acceptable to come out of nowhere and wrecking ball another rooster off of the hen he’s trying to mate with. I’d wrecking balled Pres, but Beyoncé is the top rooster. Just like an alpha werewolf in a tropey urban fantasy, Bey then had to beat me to prove he was still the leader. Yeah yeah, you attac, you protec.
I love the way Bey’s brain visibly record-scratches when I switch roles in front of him. When I interrupted Presley’s assault, I’d become a target! But when I turned back around and shoved the feed scoop between my leg and him (it’s a 3 quart scoop, about as big as he is, strongly associated with good food) he went kinda blank and then let me retreat. I got some bugs and offered them to him, and he let me come feed him again. I’m very confusing to him.
#chickens #roosters
Bey has exactly four classifications of Other Creatures in his head: hens to mate with, other roosters to fight, threats to fight or flee from, and … me. I’m very confusing to him. Sometimes I’m a threat, but usually I help him watch out for threats. I’m not a hen, but his hens love me and all run to see me.
Lately, he’s realized that I toss out the grain food, but I only feed the really good mealworms from my hand. So he’s been learning to eat from my hand, and it’s very funny to watch. He has no chill and he’s inclined to peck the other hens in the head before he pecks my gloved hand as hard as possible, but once he realizes that nobody is gonna fight him, he’ll settle down and eat.
He’s got a big attack radius, and I’m usually really careful about not setting him off. If I have to walk between him and his hens, I move really slowly and keep an eye on him. If I want to offer him a treat, I’ll approach with my hand out, then stop and wait for him to invite me in. He’ll pick up and drop a twig a few times to let me know he’s willing to see what I’ve got, and then I go into his space.
But this morning Zelda just wanted to eat some breakfast, and Presley snagged her on the way out of the coop. She’s at least as big as him and he’d missed the neck, so she was just dragging him toward the food, squawking up a storm, while he held onto her back feathers. I went storming over and Presley gave up. Zelda made a break for the food right as two pounds of fury bounced off my calf. Big shout-out to my French terry sweatpants for keeping my skin unscratched! I turned around and poked Bey with the feed scoop until he stopped, then gave him another lil handful of bugs as a peace offering. My bad, little friend.
Roosters have these very hard-wired *rules,* you see. They look at the sky way more often than hens do. They share food, but only with hens. They’re always down to fuck. And it’s always acceptable to come out of nowhere and wrecking ball another rooster off of the hen he’s trying to mate with. I’d wrecking balled Pres, but Beyoncé is the top rooster. Just like an alpha werewolf in a tropey urban fantasy, Bey then had to beat me to prove he was still the leader. Yeah yeah, you attac, you protec.
I love the way Bey’s brain visibly record-scratches when I switch roles in front of him. When I interrupted Presley’s assault, I’d become a target! But when I turned back around and shoved the feed scoop between my leg and him (it’s a 3 quart scoop, about as big as he is, strongly associated with good food) he went kinda blank and then let me retreat. I got some bugs and offered them to him, and he let me come feed him again. I’m very confusing to him.
#chickens #roosters