Big Red is dead

In August of 2007 we got a phone call from a friend of ours. Seems he was trying to list a piece of property as part of an estate. The property (which came to be known as "the Jungle") was home to three acres of overgrown tropical landscaping, koi ponds and animals...

there were afghan hounds (which were placed with afghan hound rescue)

there were emus (which we were offered and wisely turned down--they were subsequently featured on an episode of "Animal Cops Houston" on the animal planet)

and in a small cage, there were chickens.

We ended up with the chickens. There were about seven hens, both bantams and full sized hens and there was one lone rooster, to all appearances a Rhode Island Red. We brought the chickens home, and not having a place prepared for them, they were turned loose to free range. Big Red behaved himself, never acted aggressively towards us or the children so we enjoyed the crowing and didn't think much more about it until a few months later when out from under a bush there popped a batch of fluffballs. Big Red was a daddy! Then there was another batch. And another. And yet another. Big Red sure got around!

In no time at all our chicken numbers went from about a dozen to about five dozen! I know that there are chicken lovers out there, but my affection for chicken, to be honest, hasn't ever strayed much from the fried variety, so it was a bit disconcerting to suddenly be overrun. One thing was for certain, they were beautiful, we had chickens of every imaginable color and shape and size. I know that those who know chickens could tell me that types represented but I remain clueless. We would sit on the deck and watch the chickens do their stuff, scratch in the dirt, run for snacks, hen peck. Through it all Big Red watched over his increasing flock. He was always there to protect his harem and his offspring.

Over the past few months Big Red got slower and slower and did not venture quite as far as he used to. We pretty much knew that he was acting like a geriatric bird, and weren't too surprised. We had no idea how old he really was, but still it was fun to watch him sun himself and be ready to come running if needed.

Emma found him this morning in the bushes by the garage. He lived a full and prolific life and that is just what we knew of him on our farm. He will be remembered...if for no other reason than because I don't think we could eradicate his genetic imprint on our flock if we wanted to. He was a poultry patriarch and a gentleman and he will be missed.