When this picture was taken, I was referring to this as a Teenage Mutant Ninja Rooster.
Looked pretty masculine to me.
That comb fairly reeks of testosterone.
The thing is: awhile back, as Morgana was introduced to
the world on Facebook in this very photo, I was being told
that she's a hen. Even people who are usually pretty
dispassionate about poultry remarked on her beauty. After
all, you're looking at a cross between a Rhode Island Red
and a black banty Cochin rooster. That's a remarkable-
looking chicken, folks.
Not long after her photo session, however, Morgana
began behaving strangely. We found her atop other hens.
I was told she was asserting her dominance. I had never
seen a lesbi-hen in our flock, but I accepted this.
Then Morgana started crowing. At that point, I
rechristened her Morgan, and everyone decided that, indeed,
this is a rooster.
These days, Morgan is excessively intimate with just
about every hen we have. Our old rooster - beloved Mr.
Fluffybutt - tolerates this fairly well, though he sometimes
shoots across the yard like he's been fired from a cannon,
feathers flying in the wind. So far, he seems willing to share
Morgan has started locating pieces of food and cackling
to summon some chicks of his own.
Mr. Fluffybutt feigns indifference.
You can't even distract him with cracked corn anymore.
Morgana-turned-Morgan starts his plaintive crowing
around 3:00 a.m. some days. It is a sad, lonely wail.
Apparently it is only discernible to females, because my
husband sleeps right through it.
He seems pretty set on being a rooster, which is fine with
me as long as he can integrate into our little flock. He really
Sometimes, though, I am reminded of Jeffry Eugenides'
Middlesex. Interesting book; Oprah's book club (as well as
members of my own) explored it years ago.
I hope that Morgan can continue to fit in around here.
He's a pretty bird.
Love from Delta.