The pecking order fascinates me, reminds me of high school. Some breeds are vicious, but the Faverolles are rather laid back, and their dominance is expressed rather in simply walking over one another for the dominant, or around for the submissive. Other breeds like Leghorns and some game birds tend to peck each other's little toes and eyes. Even Faverolles would, I suppose, were they too overcrowded.
Out of the seven baby Faverolles chicks I hatched, it turns out that six of them are actually roosters. Yes, you read that right. What typical luck. However, that means I'll simply have to order more eggs to hatch, so perhaps the news is not all so bad.
Because the Faverolles are a French breed, I'm giving them all French names. I'm still in the process of naming them all... I like to name them based on their personalities, and on what seems to fit.
Thus far we have Adelle, Jean-Jacques, Marcel and Yves.
Adelle is apparently our only pullet; she's a real beauty, and her name means noble birth. Her feathers are especially long, and I notice that she tends to hover near anyone who complains with peeps, trying to comfort him.
Marcel is the runt and had a rough time of it at first, but he's a fighter. His name is in reference to the god of war. However, Marcel is a real snuggle bunny now, probably because of all the extra attention he received early on. Smaller than the other cocks, he also seems to be pretty fearless and self-reliant... a little Napoleon.
Jean-Jacques is a romantic. Whether I intend to pick him up or not, if my hand goes into the brooder and Jean-Jacques is ready for some attention he jumps into my hand and waits to be lifted to my shoulder, where he can cuddle in my hair and philosophize about all the goings on in the brooder below from a height and a distance. He is also the first (and as yet only) little bird to use the training roost. If I don't pick him up fast enough, he tries to climb my arm, sometimes pecking at my freckles along the way. Once on my shoulder he settles nicely for a half hour or more while I read or even stroke or hold the other chicks.
Yves is the most handsome and masculine of the bunch. His down is exquisitely shiny, and he spends an inordinate amount of time preening. He walks as tall as he is able, with his head held high--a fashion plate. He has also been the first to attempt crowing, stretching his neck to its fullest extent, flapping his little wings, and singing "Yap!" He'll get better at it.
Just a few moments ago I there was quite a din coming from the brooder, and I rushed in, afraid that somehow, something had overturned or someone was hurt... perhaps someone had jumped out and was cold. But no. It was Yves.
He had apparently settled in some fresh poo, which attached itself to his gleamingly clean down. When he discovered this, he screeched as if the all the powers of darkness had overcome him, frantically trying to pluck the offending mass off and restore his dignity. The rest of the bunch panicked at his wailing and thus the ruckus. Poor Yves, such a dandy.
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