Sounds like a job for CrockPot and a stew recipe.
If you’re looking to have a self-replicating flock, I’d suggest you keep an eye on them. When there are too many roosters, they start to harass the hens. Keep the number down to one or two.
Never have more than one rooster, they start competing to see who can crow the earliest in the morning, and then next thing you know you’re out in the yard in your pajamas at 2:30am with a shotgun and a mad glint in your eyes.
Sometimes they crow all fucking day. All. Fucking. Day.
See, my wife raises these bastards, and has all kinds of different breeds. So she has to have at least one rooster per breed. Hence, the crowing. All. Fucking. Day.
And she has the nerve to ask why I drink!
I know what you mean. I just picked up some Silver Campine hens and got a lot of pressure from the owner to take the rooster because she wanted them to stick together and there aren’t many people who raise that breed around here. I simply told her “Roosters and I have a bad history”, and she got the message.
We ordered chicks from a hatchery one year and they put a bunch of “packing peanuts” in the shipment to help keep them warm. “Packing peanuts”, for those that don’t know are extra male chicks and they are runtiest little things, most people kill them as soon as they arrive. My wife convinced me to let them live, and they did for about four months. Then they turned into teenagers, got mean, and started competing for who could crow the earliest.
I think it was 1:00am and I got up from bed. My wife said “You can’t shut them up” and I replied “Wanna bet?”. There were a dozen plucked roosters in the freezer a few hours later. That was hardly worth my time because they were already tough and stringy even at that age.
I think it goes further than that. I think “he loves the cock!”
So that’s the reason why the chicken crossed…
Over here, the chicken crosses the road to show young raccoons it CAN be done.
When we had chickens, I would kill the roosters at about 8 weeks, or whenever they started pestering the hens. I actually pithed them, sticking an icepick up the roof of their mouth into their brain, also about the size of the tip of the icepick. They didn’t flop so much, and they were promptly bled. They were ok roasted slowly, preferably basted in bacon fat. (I was much younger then) The old hens were tough as all get out, and even pressure cooked would repel a fork.
There was a loon recipe…seethe a loon nailed to a board in water and spices until the board was tender. Then eat the board.
Well, FA finally did it, he spurred my sister in the leg, drawing blood, he attacked her as she was walking away, another unprovoked attack…
She normally shrugs off the attacks, but she has always said the day he draws “First Blood” will be his last.
So…guess who has the “dubious” honor of dispatching FA (actual name “Scrambles”)?
That’s right, she’s farming the duty off on me, because she can’t bring herself to do it :dubious::smack:.
She should do it herself, it’s one of her chickens anyway.
You’ve come to snuff the rooster?
Aren’t those the same chickens taken by the hawk in “Porky’s Poultry Plant?”
Yes, here comes the rooster…
It’s Frankie!
I suggest coq au vin.
The Bantam Cock - a Scots-Irish folk classic 
You win the thread. 
Point of error, the FA’s name was actually “Pants” (note the usage of the past tense in the preceding paragraph) not Scrambles, she’s one of the Orpingtons my sis has
Tonight, Pants spurred a woman that works at the barn, so my services were requested to dispatch the FA immediately…
It was humane, and quick, I took him out of the coop, apologized for what I was about to do (he couldn’t help being what he is) and delivered a single 16 grain Predator Polymag .22 caliber pellet to the back of his skull from my Benjamin 392 pellet rifle on 8 pumps.
It was an instant kill, he flopped 3 times and laid still, no suffering, it was instant lights out, one minute alive, the next, dead.
I prepared the carcass for processing, but there was almost no meat on him, so I plucked his feathers for fly tying, and the carcass will be recycled by our local wildlife, maybe turkey vultures, coyotes, raccoons or opossums (or the extremely rare Carnivorous Seacoastal Maine Deer…)
His feathers will live on in fishing flies, and he did actually fertilize at least four or five eggs, so his legacy may live on in the next generation of chicks (let’s hope they share his coloration, but not his attitude.
Sorry, Pants, but you brought this on yourself.
And no, he’s not pining for the fjords either…
I guess you found a way to kill him yet.
A moment of silence for the passing of dear, misunderstood Pants… Ok that’s enough.
Page 2 of my photobucket page has the first set of PantsFlies, made with hackles and cheek feathers