Arrived home from a meeting last night only to have my wife greet me with: "We've got to do something about that rooster!" She and my son had been outside watching them in their penned run area and observed him attacking pullet after pullet. "He pulled a whole clump of feathers from one of the comets. Sean wanted to get in there and hit him with the tennis racket. I told him we would deal with it some other way. But, if we don't do something, he's going to kill one of those pullets." Well, I doubt that. But, when I weighed patience against upset wife and son, I decided I needed to do something. So, this morning, I caught him and put him in the fenced-off corner with the three, year-old hens. I exited the coop and observed through the window for a minute. Right away, he started pacing the fence, looking for a way to get back with the pullets. The dominant hen immediately hopped from the roost to let him know who ruled that corner of the coop. From bully to henpecked roo ... Ah, the reversals of fortune!