Bold and brazen, the wild roosters roam our yard with prideful struts. They crow to the clouds at any hour, declaring their existence, heads thrown back, exclamations loud and resounding.
A bane to any gardener, the wild roosters of our island lead the pack in chicken scratching at every seedling. If you’re a hopeful, late-morning sleeper, good luck. The cacophony of rise-and-shine begins to ramp around 4am.
And if you happen to be a hen, don’t think your same-shared species will save you from the onslaught. Some member of that cocky crew is bound to single you out, chase you wildly, and pin you down, once caught.
These roosters are imbedded in our world, either crowing loudly, uprooting our tender plants, staging macho male stand-offs with each other, or chasing hens. And yes, of course, this is their instinct. These roosters are doing exactly what roosters are born to do.
So when a rain squall came through the other day, it was surprising to find one local hovering in crouch position, poised for cover beneath the tree.
Maybe it was unkind of me to begin snapping photos of his predicament. I just couldn’t help capturing such a rare moment, tail feathers sagged and drooping. Mother Nature’s weather pattern bringing in some balance.
Hey, we’ve all got a little rooster in us.
And at least until the rain passed, this one was humbled.
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