There's a photo making the rounds of a rooster named Curly, and I can't stop looking at it. Curly is blind in one eye, and he likes to stand on his human while that human lies in the grass. The result is a portrait of pure, unearned authority. The man on the ground looks like he's accepted his fate. Curly looks like he owns the sky, the grass, and probably the camera too. This is the kind of content that makes you realize chickens aren't just birds, they're tiny, feathered warlords who negotiate from a position of absolute confidence. And we love them for it.
Let's be honest about what's happening here. Curly isn't standing on his person because he's affectionate. He's standing there because he can. That one good eye is scanning the horizon for threats, yes, but also for opportunities to remind you who's in charge. The fact that he's missing an eye makes him more impressive, not less. He's adapted. He found a perch that works, your chest, and he's using it. For anyone who's ever felt intimidated by their own flock, this is a masterclass in chicken psychology. They don't need to be big or perfect to rule the yard. They just need to be bold. Curly is bold. You're the grass.
If a reader came to us and said, "My rooster does this too, and I'm not sure if I should let him," here's what we'd say: Let him. Within reason, of course. A rooster that perches on you is a rooster that trusts you, even if his trust looks a lot like a power move. It's a chance to bond on his terms, which is the only kind of bonding chickens really do. You can gently redirect him if he gets too comfortable with his spurs, but don't confuse his dominance for aggression. He's not trying to hurt you. He's trying to be your tiny, one-eyed king. That's a privilege, honestly. Not everyone gets crowned.
So the practical takeaway here is simple: next time you're in the yard and your rooster hops up for a portrait session, don't shoo him off. Lie still. Let him have his moment. You'll get a ridiculous photo, a story to tell, and maybe a little scratch on your shirt from his claws. That's the price of admission to the Curly Fan Club. Worth every cluck.