P. DIDDY, MAINE’S SMALLEST COCK ~ Roosters I Have Known and Loved #4

I got our current rooster at the Davisville Flea Market. Please don’t ask what possessed me. Obviously, I didn’t know he was a he until some time later when he attempted his first crowing. His voice cracked like any other adolescent male, but he was loud.

This rooster is about the size of a healthy banana. Truly, I believe I may have Maine’s smallest cock. But even in his mini state, he is a true stunner. P. Diddy is golden hued with blue and red feathers, almost like a small ornamental pheasant. He looks like an Aztec headdress shining in the sun. Bling!

Anyway, the girls absolutely adore P. Diddy. They follow him around and he finds juicy worms for them. He is the only rooster I’ve ever heard who actually chuckles. He makes sounds of pure delight when he finds a choice morsel for the girls. He always gives it to them first, at his expense. Such a suave gentleman. When they roost at night, P. Diddy is ensconced underneath the breasts of two of the largest hens, his little head sticking out from beneath their curvaceous, bodacious down feathers. If a rooster could smile deliriously, this’d be it.

P. Diddy is the Tom Cruise of the chicken kingdom. He’s tiny for sure, but somehow, he knocks the ladies dead. They would follow him anywhere. When he crows, he puts his all into it. He stands on his tiptoes and throws his head back, and he almost falls over backwards every time he lets it rip. But he gets the fertilizing job done. At first, I thought I might have to get him a stepladder or something—but nope. He is so fast and so on target, when he’s done the hens look around like, “What was that breeze?”

One night last spring, P. Diddy was not in the roost at dusk. I didn’t find him until the next morning when I heard a feeble attempt at a crow. I found him on his side in the back field, staggering and still trying to crow to alert the flock to danger. He had been beaten up very badly by a skunk and left for dead. I thought he was blind and brain damaged. His eyes were swollen shut and he couldn’t stand or eat.

I brought him in the house and put him in the “Chicken Whisperer” which is a woven basket with a top that is warm and dark and safe. I fed him with an eyedropper for two weeks until he hobbled out of the basket to protect and be with his beloved girls once again. I swear they celebrated his return with the chicken equivalent of cheering; the noise of their joy at seeing him alive was deafening.

He made a complete recovery. Today he is running around on his fast little roadrunner legs making sure everyone is accounted for.

Long Live P. Diddy! He’s the Man!

Coming on Thursday!

Another rooster story…but it’s the last one…I promise.

 

Carol with her mother, Louise, holding Tidy Whitey – one of P. Diddy’s many devoted girlfriends

Carol Leonard

About Carol Leonard

Carol Leonard is a midwife, a writer and a licensed beaver trapper. She was the first midwife licensed to practice legally in New Hampshire and has attended close to 1,200 babies born safely in their own homes. She was a co-founder of the Midwives Alliance of North America (MANA) representing all midwives in the US, Canada and Mexico. She was elected as the second president of MANA. Carol is the author of the best-selling memoir, Lady’s Hands, Lion’s Heart, A Midwife’s Saga, Bad Beaver Publishing, 2010. Carol is currently building a 400-acre farm in Ellsworth, Maine with her husband, Tom Lajoie. Her blog BAD BEAVER TALES: Love and Life in Downeast Maine, chronicles their informative and funny journey building their dream homestead on 400 acres of wilderness in Downeast Maine. Carol and Tom are also raising about a hundred beavers there that they argue about on a daily basis. These blog posts will be a collection of tales not just about Bad Beaver the place, but stories that meander around in her life, past and present—at the same time, Bad Beaver is where it all leads. As a writer friend says, “These stories from Bad Beaver are, at turns, brave, beautiful and just plain badass.”