I am obsessed. Ever since we decided to get roosters to protect our hens after Goldie was nearly killed, I’ve been looking for the perfect rooster. I found it.

The Liege Fighter. It’s a Belgian gamecock, 30 inches tall and 12 pounds. Huge feet the size of a turkey’s, with giant spurs. The face and gait of a pterodactyl. Flashy, gorgeous feathers. Friendly and gentle with humans and other chickens BUT (says the listing on Greenfire Farms that did me in) “pity the hawk that tries to threaten a hen when a Liege rooster is on patrol.” Pity. The. Hawk. Oh, yesss….

Hawks are protected. You cannot harm a hawk. I do not intend to harm a hawk. (Take note please, DNR.) All I’m saying is, if a hawk attacks my chicken, and my chicken kicks its ass, that’s just nature. (Plus probably embarrassing later at the Hawk Club.) Pity, pity the hawk….

“The Leezh” is how I say it. It’s actually “Lee-EZH”. But I like “the Leezh” because it sounds like a Special Forces. Like the Navy Seals of the farm, the anti-raptor enforcement unit.

I got six. Right away they were different. Big and muscular, like raising baby eagles. Shockingly calm and friendly. Super easy to handle. Unafraid. Confident. Fabulous.

They’re teenagers now. Four of the six are growing up to be roosters, two hens. The roosters are transforming from dusky chicks to show vibrant and glorious feather patterns – two black with chestnut saddles, orange necks, and deep green tails. One dark grey and chestnut. One enormous light grey-blue with spectacular fiery accents. One small grey hen like a roadrunner. And, one jet black hen we’ve named Nighter Love, whose feathers glisten deep purple and green in the sunlight.

They are crazy-great. I love them in all their giant, breathtaking, beautiful, feathered strangeness. They walk upright, like a pack of dinosaurs. Their crow is the cry of a primal game bird, not a regular chicken. When they roost, they stomp along the bar sounding like elephants are in there. And they’re only half grown.

Welcome, my Liege.