Two of the friendliest roos I have had were both rescued. The first one I picked up at a former job. I worked a public works job and animal control had brought in a young roo (about 6-9 months old) that had been either hit by a car or dropped from a truck. Poor guy was found in the street. One guy wanted to make dumplings out of him, but the secretary would have nothing of it. I told her I would try to rehab him, but made no promises of any success. I took him home, divided the pen (only had two hens at the time and had to keep the girls away from him since they were very, ahem, excited of the prospect of a male. Both of his legs were broken. I splinted him up with gauze, popsicle sticks, and duct tape while he protested the whole time. I gave him food and water and let nature work. For the next two days, every time I took him food and water and reworked his bandages, I fully expected to walk into the pen and find him dead. He was that bad.
Well, he didn't die. He thrived. He got used to the routine of splints and duct tape and me handling him. His legs mended. Nowhere near perfectly, mind you. He always looked like he hobbled. I named him Hoppy. I released him to the girls and quickly discovered, despite his disability, he was quite honestly, the most procreating roo I had ever seen. He lived for about 5-6 years. Of that time, I don't think I could have had a more pleasant experience with a rooster. Friendly isn't descriptive enough. He would follow me around the garden for treats and call the ladies when he got one. he was perfectly fine with being held and petted and would soak up the attention like a sponge. Sadly, I think the leg injury was what shortened his life. About 3 months before he passed, he started having more difficulty walking, then standing. I carried him around the yard to his favorite spots, where he would still call the ladies over. He got a respiratory illness and succumbed 3 days later.
My current roo, Ducky, was a straggler who happened to walk thru the yard where I live now. I had married, moved ,and no longer had my typical flock of backyard birds. While outside I heard the familiar clucking and cooing of a roo investigating new things. I discovered the guy walking through the front yard and approached. He let me get close (5-6ft), but not too close, so I assumed he was accustomed to people and was simply an escapee from somewhere. I let him alone and went back to work. A couple hours later, I was outside again and heard the neighbors across the field (my grandparents in-law) yelling at their dog, a Siberian Huskey. I look up and discover that he had a feathered, red squeaky toy and was tossing it in the air. My heart dropped. I raced across the field and luckily for the roo, Skip (the dog) had his back turned and didn't see me coming. I tackled him, grabbed the scared roo, and immediately went into home vet mode. Thankfully, the worst damage was that he had been half plucked. He had a couple of bite marks under his wings, which I applied neosporin on. I had a makeshift pen I had made for the cat to go outside in since she was declawed. I put him in it with some corn, bread, and water. Nobody knew of any lost roos, so I decided to keep him. I brought in a hen from my parent's and haven't looked back. The wife has gotten used to the growing flock (up to 20 now). Ducky is thankfully as friendly as ever. I have had to treat him for bumblefoot and do some cutting on him to get it out. - He since has been a little more apprehensive as to me picking him up, but still follows me around the place for treats and a wattle and comb rub.