Roosters, Romance and the Filipino Man – A Love Affair with Feathers

Roosters in the Philippines are practically part of the national soundtrack. Whether they’re crowing outside your bedroom at four in the morning or making themselves heard at Manila Airport, these feathered gentlemen are impossible to ignore. And the special relationship between Filipino men and their roosters is something that still fascinates me.

A Filipino Man and His Rooster

There are certain things you notice quite quickly when you move to the Philippines.

The heat. The traffic. The fact that a journey of five kilometres can take anything between ten minutes and the better part of your remaining life.

And then there are the roosters.

They’re everywhere.

In backyards, beside houses, along roads, behind little shops and occasionally in places where you would least expect a farmyard animal to make an appearance.

Now, I have noticed something rather interesting about Filipino men and their roosters.

Some men love cars. Others collect watches. Some spend a small fortune on motorcycles.

And quite a few Filipino men seem to have a special place in their hearts for a rooster.

Not just any rooster, mind you.

Their rooster.

They look after these birds with the sort of dedication usually reserved for a classic Mercedes, a prized football team or, perhaps, a particularly expensive diamond ring.

And before anyone gets upset, I’m not suggesting that every Filipino man owns a rooster or that every rooster owner is involved in cockfighting.

Far from it.

Some simply enjoy keeping them. Others are serious breeders, and some treat their birds almost like family members.

Although I have yet to see a rooster sitting at the dinner table, I wouldn’t entirely rule it out.

Welcome to Manila International Poultry Airport

One of the strangest experiences for someone new to the Philippines is hearing a rooster at an airport.

Imagine this.

You’re standing inside Terminal 3 at Ninoy Aquino International Airport in Manila.

Everything looks perfectly normal.

There are departure screens, airline counters, security personnel, passengers dragging enormous suitcases and the usual announcements that nobody can quite understand.

And suddenly…

COCK-A-DOODLE-DOOOOO!

Excuse me?

You look around.

Did somebody change the destination without telling you?

Have you accidentally wandered into a poultry farm?

No.

You’re still at the airport.

Somewhere nearby, a rooster has apparently decided that the airport’s public address system is not doing a particularly good job and has taken matters into his own wings.

There can be perfectly practical reasons for travelling with a rooster.

Breeders transport valuable birds between islands, birds may be sold or exchanged, and some are destined for breeding programmes or cockfighting events.

Live birds are subject to airline and veterinary requirements, of course. You cannot simply put your favourite rooster in the overhead locker next to your laptop.

Although I suspect some owners would happily buy their champion a business-class seat if the airline allowed it.

And who knows? Perhaps some men simply cannot bear to leave their feathered companion behind.

Other people travel with a Chihuahua.

In the Philippines, you might encounter someone travelling with a rooster.

One Rooster? Don’t Be Ridiculous!

The next thing I discovered is that owning just one rooster is apparently not always enough.

One becomes three.

Three become six.

And before you know it, there are twelve or twenty-four of them standing proudly in their own little spaces, looking rather like a military parade where nobody has bothered to synchronise the watches.

Breeding good-quality roosters can be a serious business.

A bird with desirable bloodlines, impressive physical characteristics or a successful breeding history can be worth considerably more than an ordinary backyard chicken.

For some families, breeding and selling birds provides additional income. For others, it is a hobby that has developed into something approaching a full-time occupation.

And then there is the prestige.

A beautiful, strong rooster can be a source of considerable pride.

Unfortunately, he is also equipped with his own built-in alarm system.

And there is no snooze button.

The Great Filipino Rooster Orchestra

One thing you quickly learn about roosters in the Philippines is that they don’t seem to believe in a quiet morning, a peaceful afternoon or, for that matter, a decent night’s sleep.

They crow at sunrise.

The farmer wakes up.

Everybody starts their day.

How charming.

What nobody told me is that roosters apparently have a very flexible interpretation of sunrise.

Five o’clock in the morning?

Certainly.

Three thirty?

Why not?

Eleven at night?

Well, perhaps somebody needs reminding that tomorrow is coming.

Roosters don’t crow only to announce the morning. They also crow to establish territory, communicate with other birds and respond to noises or rival roosters.

And when one starts, another often feels obliged to reply.

Then another.

And another.

Before long, the entire neighbourhood is participating in a conversation that nobody seems particularly interested in ending.

It’s like a WhatsApp group where every participant has accidentally switched on voice messages.

At maximum volume.

And nobody knows how to leave the group.

The German Dream of Ordnung

Now, being German, I have a certain appreciation for rules.

Not necessarily because I enjoy them, but because I grew up in a country where practically everything has a rule.

Including, I sometimes suspect, the correct procedure for opening a window.

In Germany, keeping a large collection of crowing roosters in a residential neighbourhood could lead to some rather lively discussions with the neighbours.

Possibly followed by letters.

Then more letters.

And eventually a gentleman from the local authorities carrying a clipboard.

In the Philippines, things can be a little more relaxed.

Unless, of course, you live in an expensive subdivision.

There you may encounter rules and regulations that remind me of a German Hausordnung.

No noisy animals.

No livestock.

No washing hanging where the neighbours can see it.

And probably no breathing too loudly after ten o’clock.

Well, perhaps I’m exaggerating a little.

But only a little.

But Are All These Roosters Actually Allowed?

This naturally raises a question.

Can you really keep twenty roosters in your backyard, even if your neighbour’s bedroom is only a few metres away?

Well, the answer is wonderfully Filipino.

It depends.

There isn’t one simple nationwide rule saying that every household may keep a certain number of roosters.

Under the Philippine Local Government Code, local authorities have powers to regulate animal keeping, commercial gamecock breeding and activities that create a nuisance.

So the rules can vary depending on your city, barangay, zoning classification and subdivision regulations.

In some places, backyard poultry keeping is permitted under certain conditions. In others, restrictions may apply to the number of birds, their location, hygiene or noise.

Which means that your neighbour’s twenty-four roosters might be perfectly acceptable in one area and cause an official headache in another.

Personally, I would prefer a slightly simpler regulation:

Roosters are welcome, provided they do not hold their annual singing competition directly outside my bedroom window.

Unfortunately, I haven’t found that particular clause in Philippine legislation.

Yet.

The Art of Negotiating with Rooster Owners

Around our house, we sometimes have quite a collection of roosters.

Not ours, I hasten to add.

They belong to various neighbours who obviously appreciate the finer qualities of these feathered gentlemen.

Over time, we have learned that the best approach is usually a friendly conversation.

Could you perhaps move the rooster a little further away from our bedroom?

Not to another province.

Not even to another barangay.

Just a few metres would be lovely.

And generally, these conversations work reasonably well.

After all, nobody wants to start a neighbourhood war over a chicken.

Although, considering the volume of some of these birds, the war might already have started without anyone noticing.

I also think there is something sensible about keeping larger numbers of roosters in a dedicated area rather than squeezing them between residential houses.

The birds need proper space, shade, water and care.

And the neighbours occasionally need sleep.

Surely both are reasonable requests.

Sabong – More Than Just a Cockfight

Of course, no article about roosters in the Philippines would be complete without mentioning sabong, the traditional Filipino term for cockfighting.

Cockfighting has a long history in the country and remains culturally significant in many communities.

A sabungan is a cockpit where organised fights take place, while gamecocks are commonly called manok panabong.

For some enthusiasts, breeding and preparing gamecocks involves considerable knowledge, expense and dedication. Bloodlines, feeding, conditioning and breeding records can all be taken very seriously.

It is also a controversial tradition because fights can result in serious injury or death to the birds. Some regard sabong as part of Filipino heritage, while others oppose it on animal-welfare grounds.

And again, owning a rooster doesn’t automatically mean participating in cockfighting.

Some people simply appreciate the birds themselves.

Personally, I prefer my roosters alive, healthy and preferably a reasonable distance from my bedroom.

But I can certainly understand why someone would admire a magnificent bird with beautiful feathers and a rather impressive posture.

It’s just a pity that such a handsome creature has absolutely no concept of indoor voices.

Here is even a law about cock fighting: Philippine cockfighting regulations

The Day We Actually Missed the Roosters

And now comes the part of this story that surprised even me.

There was a time when we actually missed them.

Yes.

The roosters.

Those noisy, inconsiderate, permanently overexcited creatures that occasionally make us wonder whether double-glazed windows might be a worthwhile investment.

It happened in July, when my mother was admitted to Davao Doctors Hospital.

We stayed with her for more than five days.

Naturally, it was not a pleasant time. My mother was particularly unhappy about being in hospital, and after several days we were all beginning to feel rather homesick.

A hospital is a strange place.

Everything is organised around medication, examinations, nurses coming and going, and the constant feeling that you are waiting for something.

Even when things are relatively quiet, it never quite feels peaceful.

And somewhere during those days, we started talking about home.

About the familiar sounds around our house.

The dogs barking.

The children playing.

The everyday noise of our neighbourhood.

And yes, believe it or not…

The roosters.

My mother missed them too.

Suddenly, the very sounds that occasionally drove us mad had become part of what made home feel like home.

I suppose that’s what happens when you live somewhere long enough.

You stop noticing certain things until they’re no longer there.

Even the irritating ones.

Especially the irritating ones, perhaps.

Home Is Where the Rooster Crows

After living here for years, I’ve realised that roosters in the Philippines are not just farm animals. They’re part of the everyday soundtrack, whether you appreciate their musical talents or not.

I sometimes wonder what somebody from Germany would think if they spent their first night in our neighbourhood.

They would probably arrive expecting tropical tranquillity.

Palm trees gently moving in the breeze.

A pleasant evening.

Perhaps a little birdsong in the morning.

Instead, at four thirty, they’d be introduced to the local rooster association, apparently holding an emergency general meeting.

Without an agenda.

And with compulsory audience participation.

But after living in the Philippines for some time, I have come to appreciate that these sounds are part of everyday life.

The barking dogs, the children laughing, the occasional motorcycle with an exhaust system designed to wake the dead, and the roosters enthusiastically informing everybody that they are still alive.

Would I appreciate a little less crowing sometimes?

Absolutely.

Would I prefer the owners to keep their birds a reasonable distance from our bedroom?

Without question.

But would I want to live somewhere completely silent?

I’m not so sure any more.

During those days at Davao Doctors Hospital, I realised something unexpected.

The sound of home isn’t always peaceful. Sometimes it’s noisy, chaotic and completely unreasonable.

And sometimes, it’s a rooster crowing at an hour when every sensible creature should still be asleep.

Perhaps that’s the real difference between visiting the Philippines and actually living here.

At first, the roosters wake you up.

Eventually, you start missing them when they’re not around.

Although I still wish somebody would teach them how to read a clock.