I’m sorry to leave you hanging like that. It wasn’t intentional. Thank you for the cards and letters of concern.
Previously in my life I was battling the wicked rooster, Ricky Ricardo, who had it in his tiny little chicken brain that he needed to murder Tina Turner for spurning his amorous advances. He had pursued her into the woods in the attempt, threatened me with bodily harm for trying to intervene and basically frightened the rest of the chickens into a state of dither I had only seen when a fox or hawk was after them. Things were bad. I faced a tough decision.
Ricky Ricardo looked as if he were assembled from spare parts.
To tell you the truth, the end of the story was already written when I posted the first part of this two-part saga. My procrastination in telling Part Deux was part “life” and part “I hate to tell them what really happened.”
So, here’s the story.
I knew that I had to intervene. I could either let Ricky Ricardo continue to terrorize the chickens and perhaps risk losing Tina Turner who couldn’t get back into the coop or I could intervene.
Tina Turner turns heads. No wonder Ricky Ricardo was obsessed with her.
I tried to find that mythical country home for bad roosters but, alas, they don’t exist. No one wants a mean rooster for their flock—and certainly not as a pet.
As a backup, I tried to find someone to “take him away” (euphemism for “Just don’t tell me what you did with him”). Alas, even the hearty country folk here in Calvert County can’t be bothered with butchering and plucking a mean rooster just to end up with a stringy bird stew.
Short of a solution, I decided I at least needed to get Tina Turner to safety (literally out of the woods) and separate the bad boy Ricky Ricardo from the good chickens. I decided to use my magical powers—a can opener and a can of corn. Did you know chickens react to corn the way an addict reacts to the crash of a meth truck?
I managed to lure most of the good chickens into the coop. But every time Tina Turner tried to slip inside Ricky Ricardo would lunge after her, sending her skittering back into the woods in fright. It took all my wiles and cunning, but I finally managed to outwit a stoopid rooster. I distracted him toward the opposite side of the coop while simultaneously giving Tina Turner the high sign that it was safe to make a dash for the door. I swear, I think she knew what I was doing. She finally reached safe haven.
That left me with the bad boy Ricky.
I tried to entice him into the small Eglu—the portable coop I use for sick or injured birds or as quarantine for newcomers. He was being either especially smart or especially stupid, but either way, I wasn’t able to get him into the Eglu.
By this time I had been outside in the dark and the cold with my hands in a wet can of corn for about 45 minutes. Pardon me for my callousness at this point, but I had given it everything I had.
“Ricky Ricardo, you’re on your own for the night. Tina Turner did it. Now it’s your turn.”
Yes, I tucked in the chickens and left Ricky out in the cold.
The next morning Ricky was raging around the yard, acting like King of the Hill. Most chickens peck here, wander a bit and peck there. Not Ricky. He just ran around. And ran around. He kept circling the chicken coop trying to figure out why the other chickens were in and he was out. I noticed that Tina Turner refused to leave the inside of the coop that day.
Ricky ran around all day. I tried again to herd him into the Eglu, but he was having none of that foolishness.
“I’m free!”
The next morning Ricky Ricardo was gone.
I called him. I looked for him. I kept thinking he would wander back into the yard with stories to tell about his walk in the woods. It didn’t happen. After some more looking I eventually found a few feathers that looked suspiciously like someone had left them in haste.
I think The Circle of Life solved the Ricky Ricardo problem.
It’s a sad thing to lose a chicken, although perhaps less sad when it’s a mean chicken. Still, Ricky Ricardo was conceived, hatched and raised here Chez Bumblebee, so it was a sad day.
I don’t believe I was the only one who felt that way. Remember Edith, Ricky’s surrogate mother? She began to search for him. For the next couple of days while the other chickens would forage for bugs, Edith was wandering around looking into the trees. She flew to the top of the coop for a better view. She was looking for something—or someone.
I try not to anthropomorphize my chickens (too much), but I believe that Edith was searching for Ricky Ricardo. Motherly feelings are primal, after all.
So there you have it. The Ballad of Ricky Ricardo. Bye, Ricky.
Hi! I'm Robin Ripley author of Wisdom for Home Preservers, published by Taunton Press. I am also co-author of Grocery Gardening. Bumblebee is about my life in rural Maryland, my garden and my love of food, my little dogs and pet chickens. You can follow me on Twitter, Pinterest and Facebook. Thank you for visiting!
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I guess that’s a happy ending, at least for Tina Turner. Poor Ricky… If he would have just played nice… just goes to show… everyone gets what’s coming to them eventually.
Ricky should have played nice and he would have had a wonderful home full of chicks.
What a tough predicament. Sorry for you and sorry for Rick.
It all worked out for the best in the end, except for Ricky, but it was his own fault. Instant karma got him.
We have two roos and I think they are playing “good cop, bad cop” with the hens. It’s endlessly amusing.
what pretty colorings on your chickens…
Did I hear you say once that you were not funny? This has all the necessary ingredients for the hilarious tale it is and the moral of the story is ‘A bad cock should just be left out in the cold’!
Dear robin, As i have been exploring blogs, I stumbled on yours on chicken! How fun to read all the activity there:) I love the names you’ve given them, as well. I find inspiration in what I see. I am a newby at this, so I appreciate how you are doing it.
thanks a bunch,
Jacque
If you’ve ever owned chickens and especially a bad rooster, and oh yes, I have, this was a hilarious story. Thank you for letting him free. I love Tina. She deserves a good chicken life.~~Dee
Who Knew the sex life of chickens could be so interesting, its like an episode of Dallas
What a delightfully told story! You have a gift for sure. I do feel sorry for Rick tho.
Vicky
This is a great story! I to had a bad chicken once. His name was Charlamange. He looked just like your bad rooster. Charlie was an “Aracana” rooster. I think yours is also. He bit my 2 year old in the nose and was almost supper. We eventually had to move into town so we looked around for a good home for him also. I ended up giving him to a friend of mine who also has a cat adoption place and a large chicken coop. I never heard a thing form her until my Mother tried to adopt a cat from her and she refused on the premise that I had abused the rooster I had given her because he was so mean!LOL I never once abused that rooster he was just mean to begin with. I hate to be a racist but I think it was the Aracana in him.
“Did you know chickens react to corn the way an addict reacts to the crash of a meth truck?”
Best line ever.
And personally, I’ve never known a rooster that wasn’t mean… though, I’ve only known a few. You’ve got to knock ’em around a bit because of the whole pecking order thing…
Poor Ricky Ricardo. If only he was a little nicer to the ladies…
I still love reading your Chicken Tales no matter the outcome. Sorry about Ricky.
I admit it–it’s funny. And sad. Given how much running around went on though, I’m not sure about the “still life” part. More like “life on the run.” The big surprise to me (as a non-chicken owner) is how social chickens are–how much your flock was thrown by Esther’s progeny even before he showed his true feathers–and sex.
–Kate
I can’t blame Tina for not wanting to leave the coop. Ricky ended up right where he needed to be – dinner! Great blog!! :o)
This is way too coincidental. Let’s tell the same story, but insert another species. Last Sunday my gray cat Magnolia took off like a bat out of hell because there was some kitchen work going on that involved power tools. She is certifiably out of her mind, hisses at and picks fights with the other cats (including her sister), and bit me so badly on the face several years ago that the scars will always be there. She will not let any human on the planet get anywhere near her, so I don’t think she’s taken up residence with a neighbor. After a week of thinking she would eventually come back I can only surmise that she tangled with the wrong opponent and has met her demise. Another chapter in the Circle of Life (aka, What Goes Around, Comes Around)? Don’t know, but life in general has been far more peaceful around here this past week. Maybe Ricky Ricardo and Magnolia are plotting the overthrow of the Underworld as we type…
WOW, this is a GREAT story!!! sad, but so entertaining! such human-like behavior, pretty trippy…ricky shoulda lost the tude, what goes around….