Every rooster needs a hen

There are surprises in life you expect—like an offhand compliment or a change in the weather—and then there are surprises you don’t. 

The night Dalton came running out of my house, boots half on and a look of worry on his face, fell squarely into the latter category.

It all started with some playful teasing. Dalton had been hinting for days about a “surprise” he had for me at the ranch. 

Earlier that evening, over dinner, he’d mentioned part of the surprise was already in his truck. Naturally, I couldn’t resist teasing him right back.

Maybe I’ll just go take a peek,” I said with a mischievous grin as I stepped outside to let Winnie out for her usual potty break.

“Don’t you dare!” Dalton called after me, but the curiosity was too tempting. 

As I wandered toward his truck, he suddenly came charging out of the house, still wrestling his boots on, yelling, “Don’t go near the truck!”

By then, I could hear it: the unmistakable clucking and squawking of chickens.

“What is that?” I asked, stepping back, more curious than ever.

“You heard them, didn’t you?” he groaned, realizing he couldn’t keep the secret any longer. “There are roosters in my truck.”

“Roosters?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

“And five more waiting for you at the ranch,” he added, with a sheepish grin.

By Saturday, I finally got to meet the infamous birds. 

Winnie, however, was far less excited. She made it her mission to chase them around the yard, darting back and forth as the roosters flapped into the air just in time to escape her. 

Dalton and I stood by the old milking barn, watching the chaos unfold and laughing until our sides hurt.

As we sat there, I turned to him and said, “You know, if you’ve got roosters, you might as well get some hens. Fresh eggs could save us a fortune—have you seen what eggs are going for? $12 a dozen!”

Dalton shook his head, resolute. “No hens. Roosters are already enough trouble. Hens take more to maintain.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “Every rooster needs a hen,” I teased.

And the more I thought about it, the more it rang true—not just for the birds, but for life. Roosters might be loud, flashy, and endlessly entertaining, but without hens, they’re just aimless noise-makers.

Isn’t that true of men, too? Every guy needs a good woman—someone to keep him grounded, give his life a sense of direction, and balance out the chaos.

Now, I’m not saying I’m the hen for Dalton (though I’ve been picking up on the ranch life pretty well). But as we stood there, watching Winnie’s impromptu rooster rodeo, I couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, this feather-filled life was something worth sticking around for.

Because one thing’s for sure: Every rooster needs a hen. And maybe, just maybe, this hen could be good for her rancher.