Well the only chicken I have had a real affinity for so far - I can't call it a relationship or a friendship, just more of a mutual respect - was Elvis. Yes, a big black rooster, our first. He may have been a Black Australorp or, more likely, a Jersey Giant, I don't know for sure. But he was a gentle giant. Even with his 4" spurs he never hurt the ladies. He was a bit awkward, clumsy and slow even, but he got the job done, and his gals were patient with him.
I didn't know, when I named him, that day I picked him out of the crowd and named him Elvis on the spot, how appropriate the name would be. At the time I was just struck by his iridescent, sexy, manly black plumage and posture. He just looked like an Elvis to me!
But within days I realized I couldn't have named him better. He was the crowingest roo in the valley! He crowed the sun up starting about two in the morning, according my dear MIL. He sang it across the sky all day long. He lulled it to bed at night, and he also crooned the moon up, down and all around. Elvis was in his glory, he seemed to announce, and all's well with the world!
We are blessed to have no near neighbors to complain, but folks as far as a couple of miles away knew of Elvis and his bugle calls. They chuckled about it. But one sad morning a couple of years after he joined our little chicken farm, I didn't hear his clarion call. I went out to check and found him lying peacefully in a corner of the run. He'd crowed his last. Elvis had lain down to rest from his works and would never get up n'more. Elvis, it seemed, our fair singer, had "left the building." Other roosters have come and gone since then, but there'll never be another as cool as he. Like his namesake, there 'll just never be... another Elvis. Rest in peace, old friend.
