Tulsa King: The Fluffy Stalker With a Crow Problem

[Windwalker79]

I don’t know who needs to hear this, but I am being emotionally blackmailed by my Silkie rooster.

Meet Tulsa King — majestic, fluffy, dramatic. He crows. Not just in the morning like a respectable farm bird. No. He crows when I'm inside the house. He crows when I leave the coop. He crows like a toddler with separation anxiety who just found out you walked into another room.

As soon as he sees me? Silence. Back to eating like nothing happened.

But if I dare go inside?
“Cawwwww! Caaawwwww!”
All. Day. Long.

He’s not announcing the sunrise. He’s announcing that I have betrayed him by being out of sight.

I leave to go feed the goats? He crows.
I check the mail? He crows.
I breathe incorrectly? You guessed it.

This is not a rooster. This is a tiny, feather-dusted stage-five clinger with a God complex.

Anyway. Just thought someone might understand what it’s like to be loved so loudly… and so obsessively… by a chicken.

 

[500Chickens]

I breathe incorrectly? You guessed it.

 

[Windwalker79]

UPDATE: Tulsa King Strikes Again​

So guess who decided 2:30 AM was the perfect time to remind the entire zip code he’s in charge?


That’s right. Tulsa King.
My Silkie rooster.
My feathered alarm clock with no snooze button.
My fluffy overlord of chaos.


He stood in the dark like a shadowy barnyard Batman and screamed his truth to the universe —
CROW. CROW. CROW.
Because apparently the moon offended him or a leaf rustled or I dared to exist in silence.


No predators. No intruders. Just vibes and audacity.


By the time I went outside to check, he was happily pecking at the ground like,
“Oh hey. Didn’t expect you so early.”


Sir.
It’s not early.
It’s night.


Anyway, he’s asleep now. And I’m up googling "Can roosters be trained in emotional intelligence?"