Remember, remember the 5th of November.
My most excellent fine rooster was killed this morning, presumably by a hawk.
I presume a hawk because I witnessed, in the woods just a few meters from our door, a big hawk attempt to grab a chicken. The undergrowth was dense, the hawk fumbled her and the hen got away. She sprinted into the woods screaming and the hawk flew up into a low branch where it stared coolly at me until I started shouting at it.
Oddly, I didn’t hear the rooster. The silence was strange, and all the hens had hidden themselves. A bit later, I still couldn’t find any hens, until I was collecting eggs and was shocked to find seven hens huddled in the coop, middle of the morning.
At the end of the day when I came home, the hens were still completely weirded out, extremely subdued (most just hunkered on the ground) and not eating. To anthropomorphize, I would say they were distraught. Only the leghorns were behaving normally, scratching and pecking. They had only known him a few days.
I knew then the rooster was gone, and in a clearing a fair distance away I eventually found a tiny bit of him – a clean breastbone with the bones of one wing attached. There were barely even enough feathers to identify – he was almost completely consumed. He was a big bird, he was a feast for someone.
It’s sad to lose him, he was an excellent rooster. He was at least five years old, and didn’t have any plume feathers left in his tail, but he was still very handsome and what really matters: he cared for the hens surpassingy well. He was definitely appreciated his whole time with us.
He did his job right to the bitter end, saving all of the hens.