Mabel Moves On

I suppose for every farmer having to say goodbye to an animal is hard - I bet that's why farm kids are discouraged from naming lambs and calves and the such. But when it's your favorite animal, I'd wager saying goodbye is even harder. Nonetheless, I need to say goodbye to my chicken, Mabel.

Named for a colleague of mine as an example of a proper chicken name to counter the Greek names the boys bestowed on the first two chicks, Mabel immediately stood out from her sisters: bossing them around, and showing a keen intellect by being the first to figure out how to dig her way to freedom.

But those aren't the talents that led to Mabel's demise. Last week, Mabel displayed another trait that her sisters didn't share: she crowed. Yes, folks, Mabel is actually a rooster!

The funny thing is, early on I noticed that Mabel's comb seemed more pronounced than that of Yia Yia Peeps or Eleni. But it wasn't until last week that we woke to a strange sound - not unlike a dying car alarm - that we realized it was one of the birds trying out a nascent cock-a-doodle-do. I knew immediately that my suspicions about Mabel had come true.

The thing is, we can't have roosters. No one wants roosters: they're noisy, they're mean, and God help me if I ever missed harvesting a fertilized egg and cracked a half-formed chick into my bowl!

When we purchased the chicks, the folks at IFA informed us that every effort is made to manipulate the incubated eggs to become hens. In fact, the chances are 97% the birds are female. Mabel is a 3%-wonder.

Now although I find being woken just before 6:00 a.m. by the gargling sound of a young rooster just finding his voice rather charming, I can't imagine my dear neighbors will share in the delight when Mabel gets his full crow on. So I immediately set out on a quest to find Mabel a new home.

IFA had mentioned if, on the outside chance, we somehow did end up with a rooster, we could bring it back. They wouldn't refund our $3, but he'd be off our hands...and into someone's frying pan. I couldn't do that to my dear Mabel.

I called Wheeler Farm - they didn't take animals, but provided me the name of someone at a bird sanctuary. He was beyond capacity with roosters (a side effect of the growing number of backyard chickens). I called Thanksgiving Point, who was looking for a rooster - but a very specific breed, of which Mabel isn't a member. (I was told any spare chickens that find their way to Thanksgiving Point end up on someone's dinner plate!) And This Is The Place never returned my call.

Then I had an idea - a long shot, maybe - but an idea. My friend Rick from high school owns a farm in Green River, Utah. I don't know if he could read the desperation in my instant message or not, but Rick said he'd be glad to have Mabel move to the farm! Rick's a lifesaver - literally!

So next Sunday Rick will be coming to Salt Lake, and he'll take Mabel back to a life on a farm. He's even offered to bring us one of his many hens in exchange. And although I miss my favorite girl, I'm glad he's landing on his feet!

Oh, when Niko heard Mabel crow for the first time, his eyes lit up and he said, "Oh my gosh! I need to tell Gus: Mabel's a boy now!"