This was written for day 7 of the DBH rarepairs week 2024 using the free prompt. I chose farming au.
I hope you all enjoy it. Please R&R!
Much love!
"Come on now, pretty boy, what's wrong?" Hank crooned softly as he crouched on the well-pecked earth around his coop. The glossy brown rooster continued to squawk and claw the earth in frustration, green tail flicking in irritation. Hank couldn't figure it out either. Last year he was fine! Last year, he'd mated seventeen hens and had a whole clutch of eggs, so why wasn't it happening this year? It wasn't his age. Gavin was only two years old. These were the best years of his life! Prime mating time! Hank had already taken him to the local vet, but Luther found nothing wrong with him. He was a little stressed, but that could be put down to being stuffed in the carrier and hauled into town. "You don't like Teeny anymore? You guys had a flock of chicks last year!" Gavin flapped his wings again, fluttering a little way away to the wire fence running along his neighbour's pen.
A guy named Richard Perkins owned the place next door, and had built his own coop that very year. It looked pretty fancy too, with some expensive black breed of chickens. The rooster, in particular, was truly striking. Shiny black feathers and skin, huge wings, and a good strong body. Even his caw was loud. Hank would know. The damned thing woke him up every morning fighting with Gavin. They cawed and croaked for three hours straight, flapping and clawing at the fence until they both tired out. Hank wasn't sure if Richard was deaf or if he was already awake at that time, but he never seemed bothered when he finally appeared to feed his flock.
"Is that it? Is that big brute putting you off your game?" He'd never heard of cocks being competitive like that, but maybe the other rooster was making him feel inferior somehow. "Hey!" Hank stood up with a frown and rested his hands on his hips as Gavin shot off towards the fence, where the black rooster had appeared, ducking its head and bobbing its tail. The chickens seemed unconcerned at least, happy to peck the earth and scratch the ground looking for worms. Gavin joined the black rooster with a few ducks and bobs of his own before skittering off along the fence with a ruffle of his shiny green tail. The black cock followed, almost as if it were a game. They ran the entire length of the fence before turning and running back, hopping and flapping all the while. Are they fighting or playing? Hank had never seen anything like it.
Well, maybe that wasn't true. He'd seen Gavin running and chasing before, only it was with the hens. Last year, the glossy brown rooster had puffed up his chest, fluffed his comb, and strutted himself all around the pen. He'd chased the hens at any opportunity, birthing a whole brood of new chickens for him to sell. Gavin was good breeding stock, but if he wasn't going to do his job...Maybe I'm being too hasty. It's only halfway through the spring. Maybe his mojo's running late this year...Doubt crept in as he watched how he was with the rooster next door. They were still at the fence, hooting softly and pecking beaks through the mesh.
"Hank." Richard...He was used to that gruff voice by now. Richard was younger and recently moved in from the city. Hank had no idea what business he was in before, but it wasn't farming. If he had to guess, he'd say he bought the place on a whim, or maybe he'd inherited it. Either way, the moment he moved in, everything had changed, and not just with the chickens. He'd converted the farm next door into a breeding ground for horses. He'd shown interest in a few other curiosities, like the black chickens, but the bulk of his business was in race horses. Suits him. Hank smirked as the petite man entered his pen and walked up to the mesh fence. He was short, barely five foot four, made one hell of a jockey, too. Hank had seen him tearing around that fancy track he'd installed in the outer field. The tight slacks and knee-high boots suggested he'd been out earlier that day, not that Hank took notice.
"Richard." Hank gave him a polite nod and stepped up to the fence, towering over him since he was almost a foot taller. The lack of height didn't seem to bother Richard as he crossed his arms and joined him in watching the roosters. Hank could see the question before he even asked. "Don't ask me. I haven't seen it before either." The roosters were still there, flapping and posturing through the mesh, even clawing and jumping at it sometimes. Richard frowned, clearly as mystified as he was by the whole affair.
"Well, whatever it is, we have to get it out of them somehow! I didn't buy these chickens just to have them sit here and do nothing." A little harsh, but Hank could understand the sentiment. Farms and stables like theirs relied on the profits from selling stock, and though the chickens weren't his primary income, they did take a chunk of money to feed and maintain. Cleaning the coop, buying the feed, veterinary services, insurance, repairing and maintaining the fences, fox-proofing the damned coop. It all added up.
"You have the eggs at least," Hank added with a shrug, though those wouldn't be as valuable as live chicks. Richard scoffed at the notion. The eggs were fine and dandy, but they didn't even cover the cost of the feed. Maybe getting these chickens had been a mistake, but they were pretty valuable and sold for a good price. He also didn't like admitting defeat. If he sold the chickens now, they'd sell at a loss.
"I don't get it. Nines here is in his first year! He should be rearing to go with all these hens around!" He was rearing to go alright, but he only seemed to have eyes for the cock next door. Maybe that was the problem. He hadn't looked it up, but maybe there was something distracting about having two roosters housed so close together. It didn't bother the hens at least. They were still laying as usual, almost an egg a day from each hen. Unfortunately, none of them were fertilised. "Have you considered getting rid of the brown one?" Hank scoffed at that.
"Sell Gavin? Why would I do that? He had a good season last year! It's your rooster that came along and threw everything out of whack! You get rid of yours!" Richard laughed out loud at the very idea. Sell Nines? He'd barely had him a few months, and he was prime breeding age! It would be a waste to sell such a fine specimen!
"Do you know how rare he is? He's my money maker!" If not for the fence, Hank would have towered over Richard as he leaned in with his arms folded. Richard wasn't one to be intimidated, something Hank sort of admired as he stepped up to the fence and craned his neck. His hazel eyes were intense, scorching with indignation. It was a look Hank wanted to beat right out of him. Metaphorically, of course...
"Not right now he isn't!" Hank smirked, knowing he had him there. Richard's skin flushed slightly at the look, annoyed by the apparent amusement in his glimmering blue eyes. It was hard not to be taken in by Hank's rugged looks, despite his advanced years. He wasn't sure exactly how old he was, but he was old enough to be sporting a scruffy silver beard and matching hair that reached his ears. He was the definition of a farmer and looked like he'd stepped out of a children's storybook, right down to the straw hat and denim overalls.
"No, because your damned rooster won't leave him alone!"
"Hey, that's my line!" It seemed they weren't going to see eye to eye on this. They both clenched their jaws, low growls rumbling in their throats as they glowered. They were soon interrupted by a series of loud barks, and Hank was more than a little amused to see Richard flinch at the sound. "Easy, Connor!" The lively collie continued to bark, wagging his tail and jumping up at the edge of Hank's coop. He always got excited like that when tempers were flaring, eager to break the tension. In this case, he'd scared Richard half to death.
"Just...deal with it!" Why should I deal with it? Hank was still scowling as Richard turned on his heel and stalked off, giving him a rather generous view of his ass in those tight riding slacks. His responsibility or not, maybe Richard had a point. He wouldn't get rid of Gavin just yet, but it wouldn't hurt to move the coop into a new pen and see if some distance did the trick. Since it was spring and the sheep were out in the fields, there was plenty of room in the barn to house the chickens while he moved the coop to the other end of the yard. All he had to do was set up a new pen.
"Come on, boy. Let's see what we have lying around." He was pretty sure he still had a roll of mesh from the last time he'd fixed up the pen, and he usually had a few odd posts lying around. Connor barked and wagged his tail, eagerly taking the lead and racing off towards the barn. Hank whistled orders as he went, watching the sleek collie streaking this way and that as he changed direction, practicing his herding skills on invisible sheep. Over at the large farmhouse, he could see Sumo snoozing in the shade on the porch. While Connor was a working dog, Sumo was now a house dog. He'd been a working dog once, living out in the fields with the sheep, but he was old now, retired and living out his twilight years as a beloved pet.
Inside the barn, Hank rummaged around for spare posts and tossed them in the wheelbarrow with a hefty hammer. Alongside that went the mesh and pins of various sizes. Wheeling to the other side of the large farmhouse, he settled on a patch of grass at the edge of a field. He didn't like to build there normally, thinking it was too close to the forest, an open invitation for foxes. Still, needs must...Maybe I can encourage Sixty to stick around here for a few nights. If the lumbering white dog left his scent all over the place, the foxes would probably be too scared to come near. He was a fearsome beast to behold, large enough to take on wolves on his own. The sheep were his priority, and he lived with them full time, scouring the fields and hunting in the forest for his dinner.
Hank set to work on the posts first, hammering them into the hard earth with powerful thrusts. The day was hot; the sun beaming down on his neck as he worked. It being so hot; it didn't take long for his red chequered shirt to soak through and he paused with a huff to unclip the heavy denim straps of his overalls. Leaving the chest dangling at his waist, he pulled off his shirt and left it over the wooden fence. His brawny chest glistened as he took a break, the light breeze prickling the steely curls across his chest and body. Further out in the field, he could see the distant white bobbles of wool where his sheep were grazing. Leaning on the fence, he enjoyed the peace, heaving a sigh as the breeze cooled his skin. He was strong, with muscle to match his height and a healthy layer of fat across his gut. His late wife had called him cuddly, with no idea where that extra weight came from. The bottles of beer he kept cooling in the garage probably had a lot to do with it, though he didn't drink as much these days. He didn't have the time or inclination, too busy with the farm now he was on his own.
The peace was shattered as a distant whinny sounded, a loud crack signalling the start of another test race. He turned his head with a small frown, squinting across the way where he knew Richard had set up his track. He couldn't really see it from there, since it was about two fields over, but the pounding hooves and distant voices still carried. The only good thing about all the noise was that it probably scared off a few predators that may have ventured in for a free meal. Unfortunately, it also unsettled his sheep, though he was sure they were getting used to it by now.
Returning to the new pen, Hank spent the next few hours hammering posts and pinning mesh. The sun was already setting by the time he stopped for the day, and the pen still wasn't ready. It wasn't fully ready until the next day after hours of tugging and prodding, making sure all the edges were nailed down and the foxes couldn't slip underneath. It was finally time. After an hour of running around grabbing his chickens and securing them in the barn, Hank set about moving the coop. It was too big to move in one go, but the panels easily slid apart so he could carry it across to the new pen, where he set it in the shade of a large sycamore tree.
Once the hens and Gavin were inside, Hank was pretty sure things would work out. They were all unsettled by the move at first, taking their time and getting used to the new grassy area. He put out plenty of seed and a small trough of water as an apology, which was accepted for the most part. Gavin ate and secured the area, making a circuit of his new territory with a puff of his chest. All seemed well as he cawed and crowed, throwing his head back and beating his glossy brown wings with a flick of his green tail. This was absolutely sure to work.