Sam ‘n Ella

 

Sam was a gentleman. With his first wife, Ella, he fathered my first little flock of mongrel chickens. Then, I ordered purebred, show-quality bantam chicks of many varieties, pretty as peacocks. Sam ’n Ella parented these adoptees with skill.

   

When the chicks grew into hens, some would go broody and want to hide a nest outside. Sam would help them choose a good location. Around and around the yard a hen would strut, fluffed up and self-important, to test a half dozen spots she liked. Each time, Sam would get into the nook and scratch a depression, clucking and encouraging. But hens are indecisive and spend all day trying out the same options. When finally a decision was reached, Sam would stand over her protectively while she laid her first egg of the clutch.

   

Since Sam did not match any of his purebred harem, I got eggs from chicken fanciers who were raising bantams for show, and let my broody hens hatch them.

   

Sometimes, there were too many males. When they reached sexual maturity, some would harass the females. Sam would charge across the yard and bounce a cockerel off a hen with his big uniboob. The randy roosters would tear off hysterically. After a few times, they knew better; Sam needed only to give them the hairy eyeball and they’d run. Without any violence, he ruled the roost.

   

Sam would scratch in the dirt for bugs much of the day. When he found a juicy one, he’d pick it up, drop it, pick it up, drop it again, while clucking. The ladies would sprint to him. The first one got the treat. He’d find a termite log and call the flock, while he dug out the tasty bugs for them. 

    

If an owl perched in a tree, Sam got his gang under the house pronto. Occasionally, he’d pop his head out and screech if the owl was still there. Finally, he’d sound the ‘all clear’ and his gang would follow him back to freedom.

    

Sam was my companion for 13 years. Near the end, he became weaker and shaky on his legs, but still happy and eating. He faded away peacefully in a sunbeam where I placed him; and I sat with him until the end.

   

Sam is in poultry heaven now, where all good roosters go. Or so I’ve been told. – Jay Rainey