Pretoria - Being a mother hen is no foul play, as Crunchie the rooster has discovered.
The saying goes that the rooster rules the coup, but Crunchie is not shy to display his maternal instincts when it comes to taking care of the chicks in the absence of the hen.
He has taken care of, nine little chicks after their mother was mysteriously killed in the middle of the night.
Crunchie and his chicks are doing well, said Ilze Joubert, their owner, who lives on a smallholding at Rietvlei on the outskirts of Pretoria.
The hen initially had 12 chicks, but three had since died.
According to Joubert, the rooster is taking his role in raising them as his own seriously.
“I am amazed at how gentle he is towards them, tucking them under his wings to keep them warm. He also guards them wherever they go,” Joubert said.
Having chickens had not initially been part of her plans, but what is one to do if they simply arrive in your yard?
Joubert said it all started three years ago when they moved to the smallholding.
“I was sitting in the garden of my newly acquired cottage, having a quick snack while offloading boxes and furniture.
“The little brown hen came walking towards me, clucking merrily as she approached. She was clearly coming after whatever I was eating. I’m an animal lover and my heart immediately melted.”
She said she had never owned or raised chickens before and was unfamiliar with their behaviour.
“To me they were just cute and interesting birds and I was only too taken by the little hen who proceeded to finish my lunch in a few gulps, while jumping up to snatch it from my hand.
“She was the tiny one, the first to visit me from the other side of the stone gate, where peacocks roam and geese lazily waddle about, foraging for anything green. There were also many chickens on the other side, none of which were brave enough to venture beyond the big tree with the long thorns and curly, brown seed pods.”
Ginger, as the hen was named, became a regular visitor and was spoiled with tidbits and lots of love she got from the Joubert family.
She still went back to the main coop somewhere in the vicinity every night.
“Then, one morning, she arrived with a handsome rooster by her side. Clucking and cackling, they made their presence known in order to get some snacks. We obliged and welcomed her new partner.”
The animals decided to start sleeping in a tree in Joubert’s garden.
“We called the rooster Fred, a chunky male with beautiful, iridescent tail feathers. So Fred and Ginger went about their daily activities, foraging and exploring. We grew attached to them. They were treated and loved as our pets.”
However, one evening at dinner time Ginger was nowhere to be seen. After three days, Joubert was concerned that she had been killed by a dog or other predator, as they live close to a nature reserve.
“On day four she came fluttering and squawking from behind a pile of dry branches, looking quite scruffy and demanding food. She was evidently famished and I realised then that she was sitting on her first clutch of eggs.”
“A month later we were delighted when Ginger came home to show off her chicks, all puffed up and tail fanned out, ready to take on anything that came near her little balls of fluff. There were six. Three boys and three girls.
“We named them all and they were very much part of our lives. Jack, a red rooster who is now 3 years old and still with us, was our favourite – the guy with flair and personality,” Joubert said.
Before long her chicken population was exploding. By the end of the first year they had to give away most of the flock – which stood at about 70 chickens and it became difficult to care for them all.
“Only six chickens remained with me but, sadly, my landlord’s dogs killed our precious Ginger, our original great grandmother and later, Fred.”
Joubert meanwhile found another rooster that had been bullied by fellow “fowl” characters. They had pecked out his left eye and he was completely traumatised, sitting in a pile of misery, whimpering in fear.
“I took him home, nursed him and called him Slabo. I was officially smitten with chickens, even though I had a daily rant about their digging and scratching.
“As time went on we had to thin out the flock, but recently Snowy, a small, feisty white hen who had only one chick, arrived out of the blue.
“She was killed by a genet which left her chick orphaned. We raised the little one, a golden coloured rooster. We called him Crunchie The Legend.
“After losing another hen to a genet, three days after her chicks had hatched, our Crunchie took over the parental role and he has been a superstar since. He has proved to be the best ‘hen’ and teacher one could hope for. It has warmed our hearts and we love him for being the orphan raising orphans.”
Pretoria News