One fewer cocky bastard

He was pretty, but he was a loudmouth and a bully, so he had to die.

Once too often he’d attacked me, and Heather, and Kenny.

So last night, while he slept, Heather crept in and broke his neck. It being too late and too dark to do much else with it, she left his carcass in the field for the crows.

The other rooster is a bantam, and much less aggressive, so he gets to live for now.

(It’s not like Heather wanted a standard rooster anyway. She’d ordered an assortment of female standard chicks, and a few straight run bantams. The “filler” males they added for heat were marked with red dots on their heads, and those she gave away immediately. But they also threw in a free rare breed chick — and in our case, it turned out to be male.)