Prince and his people

I met a rooster once, out in the far out countryside of Indiana.

He had his own hen house, a big structure with a screened in porch and a cozy little cottage for all his ladies who were madly laying eggs for him, so I have to believe he was one fine rooster by chicken standards.

He had a sleek white cape and gorgeous black back and saddle.  His comb was a deep rich red and so was his wattle, but it was his feet that really changed his life.  That and the perceptive people he lived with.

Those feet were just the color of human skin.  Soft suedey pale gams with handsome claws and toes.  He was a prince of a fellow and that was actually his name. Prince! A name he definitely deserved.

Prince, as you might surmise, ran both the hen house and the people house. He was wont to sit upon tables and eye the drinks and food of his people as well as march smartly through the large garden out back.

He also worked as a watch rooster, flying up to startle those who walked too close to the garden.

And on top of everything else, he was kind of cuddly, although I had to be gentle of all those fragile feathers and delicate bones, but I suppose you expect that with royalty like him.

Prince is the first rooster I ever really got to know personally, but he is one memorable bird!