The Sad Tale of Mr. Lonely

This morning when Jack, Charlie, and I took our regular walk down the road to visit our neighbor's chickens, our neighbor--Ms. Rita--happened to be out working around the barn and she asked the boys if they wanted to see her new rooster.

Now, Ms. Rita already has a rooster. The new rooster was more or less dumped on her because no one else wanted it. It's not unusual for roosters to find themselves unwanted, as I well know, but this particular rooster had a sad story. Whoever had owned it hadn't provided any coop for it last winter. You absolutely cannot do that in this climate without killing or damaging a chicken.

In this case, the rooster's comb, toes, and spurs froze off. Poor thing. I don't even like chickens much, and I still felt sorry for it.

His lack of spurs and toes (meaning no talons) meant that he had no means of defense. So Ms. Rita couldn't put him in with her chickens, because if the other rooster attacked, the new rooster couldn't defend himself. That's why she was calling him Mr. Lonely, because he was in a big dog crate by himself in the barn.

Ms. Rita raises animals mostly for food, so she's not sensitive about the ultimate demise of animals, but she doesn't like to do the killing and butchering herself. I had mentioned before that if she knew anyone who needed to get rid of extra chickens and didn't want to deal with them, we would take the live chickens away.

Away to my stockpot, of course.

And this is why A. was walking down the road at 4 p.m. today holding a live deformed rooster by the feet, trailed by three small boys and a very interested dog.

More than one car passed him during his woodchuck walk home. I can only hope we provide some entertainment in what was a quiet neighborhood before we moved in.