Bully Rooster

I think Silver's name change is official. His feathers are still the gold-laced silver he was named for, but his crowing and random attacks are as bullying as a bully can get. Bully, it is. Efforts to catch Bully have only agitated the flock and given him lots of flight maneuver practice. The new hens have followed him to roost higher in the trees and in neigboring trees.

The urbanites are gathering with their complaints and legal petitions. I have no problem understanding the complaints. I have commisurated with the neighbors who talked to me directly. That blasted crowing is even closer to my ears than the neighbor's ears. The Bully Brat is attacking my 3 year old grandson. Are you, perchance, a skilled hunter? The Health Department sent an investigator to our cove while Hubs and I were in Houston. Sigh. I am grateful I wasn't here for that visit. I support the statute. Not arguing the wisdom. Attempts at compliance underway. . . Details of compliance to be dressed in verbage mandated by petitioner.

Hubs and I are both feeling the strain of his father's injury and progression in to funerals, et al. It has been a long, hard end of summer. Keeping up here at the Urban Homestead has been somewheres between difficult and impossible. Eldest son (36) is living here and has been helpful, but he is volatile and frequently intolerant. The phrases he learned in the mandatory "Zero Tolerance" classes have evolved to their next levels, greatly enhanced by the Toxic People fad. In short, I believe the chickens are cared for while I am gone, but I don't really know. Facts unavailable at a price I am willing to pay.

This weekend is only a break in the family drama. Well. . . Not counting the Bully Scandal. On Monday (or so), I will be driving 4 hours north to begin surveys of inherited property while hubs attempts to catch up on his full-time plus day job. Hopefully Monday will find the entire neighborhood Bully Free.