01/06/2026
Lately, we’ve been thinning out roosters so they don’t beat up the hens too badly this spring. With about 110 hens, our goal is a roughly 10:1 hen-to-rooster ratio. We planned to keep 12 roosters — one extra because we have an old guy named Crabbe who’s basically a pet. He has no interest in the ladies, so he gets a free pass.
We butchered the final batch of roosters… and the next day, I did a headcount.
FIFTEEN roosters.
That was a problem.
There should have only been twelve.
One rooster with barely-there tail feathers must’ve been passing as a hen, so I made a note of him and two additional roosters to remove. That night, once everyone was settled in the coop, I went looking.
I found the little sneak hiding among the hens.
I found a gray rooster on my list.
But the third one? Gone.
This rooster had a very distinct look — white lacing on his chest, a black body, with golden/tan flecking on his wings and back. I only have one other rooster with similar coloring, and he was accounted for. Different body shape, no doubt about it.
I checked every single chicken in the coop.
No Gus.
So I grabbed a shop light and searched everywhere — trees, buildings, under vehicles, even the livestock trailer. Nothing.
Then I saw them.
A single set of chicken footprints heading toward the driveway.
They meandered past the garden beds, blended into tire tracks, and disappeared down our long, 750-foot driveway. About halfway down, the tracks reappeared in fresh snow… veering sharply onto my neighbor’s property.
I laughed and headed straight to my best friend and neighbor’s house.
When Olivia and Casey opened the door, I said,
“I think we’re sharing a rooster.”
When we checked her coop, sure enough, there he was — perched on a roost, staring back at me like he’d done absolutely nothing wrong.
“That’s him.”
We put a little red band on his leg and waited.
The very next morning, Gus was back in my run — eating feed and hanging out with my flock like he belonged there. Red band on his leg and all.
When I asked Olivia if she’d named him, she said, “Judas. Which is ironic, because he has betrayed his flock.”
And here’s where it all clicked.
Judas was originally hatched by Olivia from one of my eggs — but he’s roughly the same age as a group of chicks hatched from my eggs in local first-grade classrooms. Those classroom chicks came home after about a week… and somewhere along the way, Gus/Judas decided he preferred a shared custody arrangement.
I’ve heard of cats living double lives with multiple families — but this is the first rooster I’ve ever met who pulls it off.
For now, Gus/Judas gets to live. As long as he behaves himself, treats the ladies kindly, and doesn’t start teaching the rest of the flock how to commute between farms.
Excuse his wet rat appearance. Chickens and rain don't do well together!
