|(Oreo in the raspberry patch, AKA "Forest of Delight")|
I dropped by the farm where we bought the chicks and shared my observations with Chicken Man Corey (he doesn't know we call him that!). Casually, I pulled out my phone and scrolled through way too many photos of Oreo.
"See? The reddish comb? It's twice the size of our other pullets. He's a cockerel, don't you think?"
I have to add that at this point I was nervous to try out my meager but growing chicken smarts. Three months prior, Wes and I stood across from Chicken Man Corey with blank stares on our faces. Now I was throwing out words like pullet, cockerel, and comb. I felt like an awkward teenager feigning confidence in my mother's unmanageably high heels.
"Well, you never know," Chicken Man Corey began. "She might end up being your best layer. Those more masculine hens sometimes turn out that way."
|(Oreo at 4-6 weeks old)|
You really can't be sure until the rooster crows AND doesn't start laying eggs when the rest of the hens do. Some hens have been known to crow.
|(Oreo inspecting the huckleberry stump)|
It was 6 AM and I was standing at the kitchen window getting a drink of water when I heard something like a squeaky trumpet coming from somewhere near the chicken coop.
With all the charisma of a 13 year-old boy whose voice just cracked for the first time, Oreo stood tall on top of an old apple crate mustering up another uni-syllabic crow.
I wish I could have seen the hens look up from below. Huh?
Talk about awkward.