Jesus is Like a Rooster

The other day I went out to the chicken run and didn’t see Ringo, my amazing rooster. So I looked inside the coop, and there he was, dead. My heart broke. He was beautiful, and he did his job so well. The girls and I will miss him.

Why do I keep a rooster? Hens don’t need a rooster to lay eggs–they only need a rooster to lay fertilized eggs. Ringo fathered many of my current chickens, including George, who looks very much like his father.

I wouldn’t keep a rooster if my neighbors hate the sound of crowing, because roosters can crow any time, and sometimes they crow all day long, if they have a good reason. (A reason that makes sense to the rooster, mind.). But my closest neighbors have told me that they LIKE the sound of a rooster crowing, so I’ve kept a couple from the chicks I hatch.

But why a rooster? I love my roosters because they remind me of Jesus.

A good rooster (and I’ve had bad, which I define as a bird who is either too rough on his girls or who attacks humans) takes care of his hens. He is a gentleman, and doesn’t rip their feathers out. He does a lovely little dance as he woos them, and whenever he spies food, he calls the girls with a special little “here it is” cluck. But most important, a rooster will guard his hens from predators or anything odd.

The Real Ringo

The other days I let the girls out into the yard because grass is good for them and creates healthier eggs. (You should see the resulting orange yolks!). I also let the girls from another coop out at the same time. I never let them out unless I’m outside, so I can be watchful for hawks.

Anyway, one of the girls from Coop A approached Ringo’s girls, who were dirt bathing in the sunshine. Ringo suddenly left his girls, spread his wings like a parachuting commando, and took off after the Coop A interloper. The poor hen promptly fled, and Ringo came back to his girls, clucking contentedly.

I loved that bird.

I’ve had roosters who tried to attack me and my grandkids, and that’s no good. A person can be seriously injured by a rooster, who attacks by jumping into the air toward you while thrusting the sharp spurs on his back legs toward you. You don’t want those things scraping down the front of your shin bone. I usually list those roosters on Craig’s List, and hand them off to a genuine farmer.

Ringo as a youngster.

But Ringo, who was a Pavlovskaya, never did that, and neither has his son. He always kept an eye on me when I went into the run, but he seemed to understand that I was his support team.

So how is a rooster like Jesus? He leads us to still waters and food. He protects us. He is a gentleman when His Spirit woos us. And most important, He would lay down His life for us . . . and He did.