h2g2 The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: Earth Edition

Cueball was nearly re-christened Asbo at six weeks. Twice at fast as the other three, twice as much in your face and no concept of personal space boundaries. If Cueball wants to get from X to Y and Twiglet is in the way, Twiglet is climbed over or barged aside.

Florence, eight weeks older and four times Cueball's size, tried to impose order with a glare or a swift side-swipe. Cueball squealed, dodged and immediately returned. In the same position Twiglet or Kiwi would maintain a respectful distance until allowed back.

Florence, Twiglet and Kiwi give swift glances, Cueball has a bold stare.

Cueball is now 22 weeks. It is no surprise that Cueball has started crowing.

He draws himself to full height, feathered feet planted wide apart for balance, puffs his chest out, ruffs up his neck feathers and goes for it.

until I read the word "crowing" I thought you were talking about kittens

Well at four weeks he was as cute as one. Both he and Kiwi, one white and one all black, would fit in the palm of one hand then. If you pick him up now you have to tuck him under an arm, and he doesn't half sound indignant about it.

Cueball has matured. He still has shouting matches with the cockerel next door, and the one next door but one, and the one over the road and the one up the lane, but he looks after his ladies. Throw treats in and he rarely eats one. He stands over them with his wings held slightly out making ‘Come here’ noises. Occasionally he picks up a currant or a wheat kernel, struts over to a favourite wife, drops it in front of her and poses with ruffled up feathers.

He may have little awareness of personal spaces, but he’s well behaved compared to other cockerels around. A dustbin lid shield is not needed for defence with Cueball. He keeps an eye on anyone entering the run, that’s for sure. But he keeps a watch out all the time for treats and threats and anyone entering the run is a possible source of either.

He has a call for danger, a particular call for buzzards, another for something on the ground in the shrubs, and another for scary buckets, wheelbarrows and lawnmowers. He keeps an element of order among his collection of womenfolk, investigating kerfuffles and silencing bickering. And he joins in the celebrations over the laying of an egg.

Cueball, you are no longer an overactive small white ball of feathers. You are grown into a handsome, white-suited with a dash of red, man about the hen-house. Respect, Cueball. Respect.

I am enjoying these updates. This one in particular is fab. Go Cueball.