A grand Rooster

This grand fellow is called Rex, but it hasn’t always been his name. He began his life as an egg in the hen house. His father, Rex and his mother, Nutmeg. He was one of nine eggs but the only one to hatch. He was born (hatched – what is the right term for a bird?) and named Popcorn. At this stage it wasn’t known if he was a rooster or a hen, he was just very adorable. Not long after his birth (hatching?) his brave father, Rex, was killed by a quoll, defending the flock. A sad day for everyone.

Popcorn grew and eventually became a rooster even grander than his father so his name changed to Son of Rex and then to Rex. He still gets called Popcorn from time to time but with a family of seven hens to protect, we think he prefers Rex.

He is every bit as brave as his father, who was also born (hatched) on our property but he has more hens and keeping them together in one place proves difficult.

We see, and hear Rex, running back and forward around the yard and the henhouse keeping a watchful eye on his flock. They free range through the day so he has his work cut out for him. (If you are ever feeling a bit down, watch a very grand rooster run. It will soon have you smiling, if not laughing.)

Rex lives in Tasmania so he doesn’t have to worry about foxes or dingos but he does have to be vigilant to feral cats and quolls.

He shares his yard with the native hens (turbo chooks) and their families. Theirs is an easy alliance with plenty of food for all. The currawong raid the coop as soon as the gate is opened, having worked out, through trial and error, how NOT to get tangled in the bird netting.

My goal is to write the adventures of Rex and his feathered friends, native and migratory, as either short stories or picture books. At the moment I’m enjoying watching them as they go about their day. Moving to the bush has turned me into a bird watcher!