For those of you who are familiar with my postings about our chickens over the past three months, you know that my children named one of the chickens Michael Jackson (named so before MJ left this earth). He is the black and white one pictured in the forefront of this picture.

Last Friday morning, after my eldest son David had left to go to the bus stop at 6:30 – we heard a weird noise coming into the house. Before David leaves for school, he goes out to the chicken coop, and lets the chickens out. “What is that?”  I remarked. Both my husband and I thought that our teenage son must be in the backyard making some noise – but as we gazed out the window, David was no where in sight. We opened up the back door, and heard about seven repetitive sounds – OMG, we thought.  Is Michael Jackson singing?

We had our suspicions.  Michael Jackson was developing a bit of a cox comb on top of his head, and his tail feathers were pluming out rather nicely.  Plus, he seemed to be a little more dominant than and protective of all the rest.  He was even sporting a white glove on one foot.  But bottomline, we ordered egg laying hens.  Not roosters.

At the moment that those cock-a-doodle-doos resonated through the neighborhood, I was sure that my next door neighbor, Wise Women Sonja, must have dropped her coffee cup on the floor.  Sonya has been quite skeptical as well as creeped out about  this endeavor all along.  Living next door to a noisy rooster, let alone 9 hens, is not her cup of coffee.

So Michael Jackson’s future with us will now be determined by just how often he decides to sing.  If he decides to get ready for his next world tour, he may just need to go and live at our local Nature Center.