By Kathleene Runnels
I’ve always loved chickens. It goes back to my daddy’s having been a chicken farmer raising White Leghorns when I was little. At the time of this incident, we had a nice flock of a variety of hens and a shiny black rooster that we called Blacky. So, when I was gifted a white Brahman rooster, I was quick to make him a home with my 20+ hens. Knowing that one rooster per up to 10 hens is ideal, I saw no issue in bringing another rooster into the flock.
I was wrong. On any given day these two fought like fighting cocks, very much to my distress. One day, apparently there had been a vicious fight as Blacky was barely standing alone in the barn with his feathers all fluffed out and eyes not even open. Surely, we thought, he was about to die. He did not. He recovered!
Blacky was resilient and must have been filled with resolve, because a few days later Franklin and I arrived home to find Whitey dead-dog-dead with his legs straight out stiff and naturally not moving. That was so sad. So, needing to humanely dispose of Whitey, Franklin got an empty feed sack, tossed the dead Whitey inside, tied the ends with string, and hauled him out to the back pasture. The dirty job was done.
But wait. There’s more. The next day Franklin hollered for me to come help him because apparently Whitey was NOT dead. Franklin saw him running around near the place where he had been summarily dumped. What?
So, I got a pet carrier, stuffed some hay inside, and prepared to nurse Whitey back to health. (I’ve even been known to take a rooster to the vet!) The two of us rode out in the Mule where I easily picked up the poor thing, held him in my arms to settle him, and when we got back to the house I put him in the above-mentioned pet carrier with food and water for him to recuperate from his ordeal. After just a couple of days, Whitey was ready for his freedom, and I turned him out where he was quickly accepted back to “his” flock. You know, a rooster has his own hens.
As for Blacky, I soon found him a rescue home, so Whitey then had the entire flock to himself. And that’s where his name was changed to Lazarus. Don’t you think that’s fitting?
Today, I have another white rooster, a White Leghorn, and in homage to my daddy, I named him Hubert, my dad’s name!