ode to a rooster

It was a sad day. The little chick we had lovingly raised was now a full blown cockadoodling rooster, and he had to go. After a call from animal services (due to the incessant crowing), and some aggressive behaviors (which included pecking and charging at Magnus), the beautiful bird’s time had come. I said a prayer of thanks for the rooster with Mags, who was actually quite relieved that would no longer have to run in fear from the bird. I mean that rooster was almost as big as the boys and could have quite easily pecked them blind. Not a chance worth taking.

He never really got a name. I called him Horatio a couple times, but once he started being mean, he became “that rooster”. I didn’t really even like to go into the coop to collect eggs, because I’d turn my back, and he’d rush at me. But he was absolutely gorgeous and did a fine job protecting the hens and being gentle enough with them.

Rooster, I’m sorry that you had to end up in the stewing pot, although your life ended on a very delicious note.

This whole procedure has made us realize how grateful we are for the cycle of life and how important the treatment of animals is to healthy meats and eggs. Our rooster was treated like a king.

Standing at attention among his hens. He was extremely protective.

His eyes were such a lovely shade of orange.

Loved his plumage… so shiny and green.

Thrilled to be able to catch and hold the hens without the threat of “that bad rooster” pecking at him.