"THERE'S A MAN IN THE HOUSE." That was the thing you had to yell as you opened the front door, if you were bringing a man home. I was born into a traditional situation with a Mom, Dad, older brother, and two younger sisters. But by 1976, it wasn't so traditional at my house anymore and both of the guys were gone. My father, literally. My brother, for all practical purposes. So it was just us girls and you really did need to issue a warning if you were changing up the gender dynamic. And so you shouted out fair warning. Probably also there was a touch of bragging implied.

Last night a new man arrived at our house. His name is Sampson. He is fine and large and very well mannered. An intelligent fellow, I'm certain.  He is a five year old Delaware rooster. He has never spurred anyone, passes on his docile genes to raise nice babies, and is a good flock protector.

We never planned to have a rooster. We actively planned to never have a rooster, is the truth. But Sampson was bullied out of his old flock by a fresh young upstart who actually plucked out one of Sampson's eyes. (Ouch!) Plus, we like roosters. We like their manly beauty, we like their crowing, we love babies, and we aren't sad to have extra vigilant help around the place. So, now there is a man in house!

 He was bit slow to leave the coop this morning, hesitant. The ladies were encouraging and curious. 

 Hunger finally won over prudence and out he went in search of breakfast. 

 Where he couldn't help but also notice the local action. The hens made sure of that. 

 He is quite lovely. We are happy to have him. And the most important business was soon resumed.