When our chickens came home in mid-May, the light Brahma — a large breed with feathery feet — was my favorite of the flock.Thankfully, chickens aren't too sensitive, so the fact that I have a favorite doesn't seem to upset the others. I named said favorite Gertrude, and I put my all into making her my pet. Disappointingly, she would have none of it. In fact, Gertie proved to be the least friendly of the bunch. And, boy, was she bossy to her other compadres. It was pretty entertaining to watch her herd the others with her top-of-the-pecking-order assuredness. Then, some disturbing things started to happen. Gertrude got bigger — bigger than the other hens — and she got more aggressive. Soon, her comb began getting larger and redder. When, last weekend, we heard strange noises emanating from Chicken Land, our fears were confirmed. Gertrude should have been named Gabe, or Gaylord, even Giles. Since it's hard to change boats in the middle of a stream and all that, we're having a hard time calling her — er, him — anything but Gertrude. A co-worker suggested calling him “Gertrude the Dude,” which has a nice ring to it ... For now he's known as “The Chicken Formerly Known as Gertrude.” (Yes, a blatant rip-off from “The Artist Formerly Known as Prince,” but, hey, it works!) Over the last couple of days, what began as a croaky, feeble attempt at crowing has become a pronounced — and very noisy — “COCK-A-DOODLE-DOO.”Now, remember, we live in the middle of town — and while Cody has very lenient animal ordinances, the noise ordinance specifically addresses nuisances like, say, crowing roosters.Keep in mind as well that, right across our backyard fence, lives Big Al Simpson. I don't want to have to do any explaining to Al about why he was awakened at 5:30 a.m. to the sound of a crowing rooster. So, the Chicken Formerly Known as Gertrude is looking for a new place to roost. (My dad's suggestion of chicken and noodles was met with disdain, mind you. As was a co-worker's over-zealous reaction to fried chicken.)We've asked our neighbors to bear with us for a few days, but, until we find him a good home, we'll cringe (and bury our heads under the pillows) whenever we hear his mad crowing in the backyard. Postscript: the Chicken Formerly Known as Gertrude — now with the distinguished name of Gerard — is comfortably at home at Leigh Dvarishkis' country spread, having been swapped for a sweet little red hen we're calling Henny Penny.

When our chickens came home in mid-May, the light Brahma — a large breed with feathery feet — was my favorite of the flock.

Thankfully, chickens aren't too sensitive, so the fact that I have a favorite doesn't seem to upset the others.

I named said favorite Gertrude, and I put my all into making her my pet. Disappointingly, she would have none of it. In fact, Gertie proved to be the least friendly of the bunch. And, boy, was she bossy to her other compadres. It was pretty entertaining to watch her herd the others with her top-of-the-pecking-order assuredness.

Then, some disturbing things started to happen. Gertrude got bigger — bigger than the other hens — and she got more aggressive. Soon, her comb began getting larger and redder.

When, last weekend, we heard strange noises emanating from Chicken Land, our fears were confirmed. Gertrude should have been named Gabe, or Gaylord, even Giles. Since it's hard to change boats in the middle of a stream and all that, we're having a hard time calling her — er, him — anything but Gertrude. A co-worker suggested calling him “Gertrude the Dude,” which has a nice ring to it ... For now he's known as “The Chicken Formerly Known as Gertrude.” (Yes, a blatant rip-off from “The Artist Formerly Known as Prince,” but, hey, it works!)

Over the last couple of days, what began as a croaky, feeble attempt at crowing has become a pronounced — and very noisy — “COCK-A-DOODLE-DOO.”

Now, remember, we live in the middle of town — and while Cody has very lenient animal ordinances, the noise ordinance specifically addresses nuisances like, say, crowing roosters.

Keep in mind as well that, right across our backyard fence, lives Big Al Simpson. I don't want to have to do any explaining to Al about why he was awakened at 5:30 a.m. to the sound of a crowing rooster.

So, the Chicken Formerly Known as Gertrude is looking for a new place to roost.

(My dad's suggestion of chicken and noodles was met with disdain, mind you. As was a co-worker's over-zealous reaction to fried chicken.)

We've asked our neighbors to bear with us for a few days, but, until we find him a good home, we'll cringe (and bury our heads under the pillows) whenever we hear his mad crowing in the backyard.

Postscript: the Chicken Formerly Known as Gertrude — now with the distinguished name of Gerard — is comfortably at home at Leigh Dvarishkis' country spread, having been swapped for a sweet little red hen we're calling Henny Penny.