Teenrooster: Ladies, say hello to "Sexy Rexy."

Something kind of funny about living in a small town is that on a given Sunday a person might show up on you porch, holding a rooster, and say, "Hey, heard you guys have some hens, and I thought you might like this rooster so you can have more chicks come spring."

And just like that, you have a rooster.  An awkward, cowardly, teenage rooster.  Or, according to Loren, a "mini T-Rex." 

I have decided to dub him "Sexy Rexy,"  in the hopes of boosting his self-esteem.  

This guy really needs some positive self-talk, because our hens are kicking the crap outta him.

Seriously.  Who knew they could be so mean.  I am beginning to really understand all these chicken analogies, like "hen-pecked."

Hen-pecked is NOT a good thing.

And Cash, realizing there is now a creature living here {even more cowardly than he is} has taken it upon himself to harass the poor young Rex even more.  Thankfully, the killer instinct in Boxers seems to have been bred out quite a few generations back.

So poor Rexy, he spends most of his days hiding out in the greenhouse. 

Since putting him with the hens in the coop at night was a total disaster, he roosts by himself on the roof of the shed. Only he cant quite flap up there by himself.  He needs a boost.

Something about this pathetic chicken evokes a bit of compassion in me, so yup... I will continue to toss him up on the shed until he gets big enough to do it himself.  

I can't wait till he grows a pair and stops letting the other chickens pick on him though, because some battles you just have to fight yourself.