Leo the Loner

Out here on the finca, I always say we’ve got more than enough chickens running around, making a disaster of my garden and my yard. Fifty of them, at least, scratching and pecking like they own the place.

So of course, that’s exactly when I found one more.

A tiny fluffball, all alone on the property, peeping his little head off. No mama hen, no other chicks. Just one lost little soul.

I searched high and low for his mother, but she was nowhere to be found. So I scooped him up and called him Leo the Loner…and took him under my wing.

He was so small, I worried he might not make it. I gave him water from a syringe, and tucked him up between a cozy neck warmer and a little heating pad filled with warm lentils.

Leo is a Kika breed, which around here means a chick with a mind of his own. They’re usually quite wild and not very cuddly—but Leo, well…he decided he liked me just fine.

When I found him, he was no bigger than a cotton ball and loved to sit in my hand. I kept him in a wooden crate by the wood stove, safe and warm. Outside, March winds still blew cold. Without help, he’d have never survived.

At first, Leo was so clumsy he’d tip right over his own toes. But by the second day, he started pecking at his chick food. A very good sign indeed!

Soon he grew curious. I’d sit him close beside me on my bed, and he’d peck at my blanket, crawl up my arm, and even pick at the letters in the book I was reading. His tiny wing feathers began to peek through, and following the shape of those feathers, I thought:

“Ah, she’s a girl.”

So Leo became Lea.

Lea was sweet and shy, but oh so funny. She loved to snuggle in my hand or tuck under my arm. At night, I’d wrap her in her neck warmer, but she’d resist going to sleep, just like one of my many little boys.

Every morning, she’d be the first to rise, chirping peep-peep-peep and waking up the whole household. And goodness, did she ever have an appetite!

Soon her fluffy yellow down gave way to brown, beige, black…and still some yellow fuzz. Not her cutest moment, if we’re being honest.

I’d take her into the herb garden to flap her wings among the mint, stevia, lemon balm, spinach, onions, and garlic. She absolutely loved it. Meanwhile, fifty other chickens watched from a distance, wondering why this chick got the royal treatment.

But Lea wasn’t very interested in them. She was perfectly content exploring the herbs…or following me around like a shadow.

Then more feathers came in. Her tail feathers started sticking up, leaning a little to one side. By then the weather was warm, so I set her cage beside the front door for fresh air and sunshine.

The other chickens gathered underneath to gobble up every scrap of chick food that fell through her cage. Still, Lea paid them no mind.

And then…the toupee arrived.

A fluffy crest popped up on her head. Her tail shot straight up.

And I thought, Oh, dear.

Because suddenly, Lea was looking very…rooster-ish.

Sure enough, Lea was Leo after all. A shy little rooster, awkward and skinny, his sweet peeps turning into teenage squawks.

But even as he grew into his lanky, slightly scruffy rooster-self, he stayed my baby.

Leo still wants to be wherever I am. At the breakfast table. Crawling up my lap. Climbing my arm. Sitting on my head. Peeking at my hair, my feet, my clothes—looking, I suppose, for imaginary fleas.

He’s free to leave his cage whenever he likes, but so far he’s not too fussed about having a social life with the other chickens. His cage now sits under the oleander, shaded and comfy. Every morning, he hops out and comes running to my bedroom, tapping on the glass doors or the window until I let him in.

In all his adolescent rooster awkwardness, Leo is still the sweetest little loner.

I can’t wait to hear him crow one day in all his glory.

In all his adolescent rooster awkwardness, Leo is still the sweetest little loner.

And while I can’t wait to hear him crow one day in all his glory, I’ve learned something else from little Leo:

On the farm, we must accept life and death as they come. Many tiny creatures don’t make it, following nature’s path. But for a conscious homesteader or farmer, every life matters. We go out of our way to help life conquer over death whenever we can.

Because babies—whether chicks, goats, or humans—are always better off with their real mamas for as long as possible. But sometimes, if a mama can’t be there, someone else steps in to keep hope alive.

“A new baby is like the beginning of all things — wonder, hope, a dream of possibilities.” — Eda LeShan

And so, for now, Leo the Loner stays close by, reminding me that every tiny life has a story worth telling.

Stay tuned for more adventures with Leo…