June 1, 2011
Trey is my yard rooster.
Now that he's loose I've realized that he is missing the end of one toe on his right foot. Perhaps it froze and fell off.
He's lost parts of his comb over several winters to frostbite, but it looks great now. The "fingers" that stick up have frozen and fallen off. Chicken owners in colder parts of the country often prefer rose-combed birds that won't have this proclivity to frostbite.
Trey is the last of my buff orpingtons. At one time I had a chicken coop full, and showed them at the county fair. I didn't name the hens other than a generic "Goldy" since they all looked alike, but since I had one rooster at a time, they ended up with names of a sort. Senior was my first rooster, his son was Junior, and Trey is the third generation.
Some evenings I have to herd him into the goat barn; other times he puts himself to bed. Trey spends part of his day in the front yard, the rest of his time in the barnyard, yearning over the mixed-breed hens that he lost to Samson, the younger barred rock rooster.