Oh my gosh, my first and only attempt to getting chickens off the roost at night would have been a "America's Funniest Home Video" winner.
I was going to take a pair of Black Copper Marans to sell in the morning, so I tried to get the roo and a hen off the roost about 10:30 one night. I was going to store them overnight in the coop in a plastic tub with plenty of airholes. The roo was especially mean and suspicious of me, and woke up immediately, ready for a fight. I tried talking to them softly, but the light scared every body, and they all started squawking and flapping. I caught the hen and put her in the tub, but she kept forcing the lid back up. Even my girls I had had for years acted like I was a masked murderer. I finally grabbed the roo, probably by one leg and a neck, and managed to get most of him in the tub. I pushed him and his lady friend back in and slammed the lid down. I had to put a concrete block on the tub lid to keep them from escaping. They settled down immediately, but my blood pressure was through the roof by that time. I felt so bad that it had gone so wrong, but probably the most injured party was me.
This was the roo that had attacked me every time I went outside, and made my life miserable for a few months. Still, I did not to want hurt him or upset the others unnecessarily. (And yes, I did warn the buyer that the roo was mean.)
I have been determined to never have a rooster again, but darn it, it looks like my new batch of girls may have at least two cockerels, out of eight birds.![]()






Laughing at the story, not the cockerel situation. That gets a different reaction:
