![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Mar. 8th, 2008 09:36 pmReaders, behold. This is the scene upon which I stumbled this morning after coming home from Alex's:
Even from a distance, I could tell they were feathers. Scanned the yard for the rooster -- no sign of him. Scanned the yard for a rooster carcass -- no sign of one. The dogs slunk around guiltily as I pulled into the driveway. There were so very many feathers. I wondered if they'd eaten him entirely.
Walking into the house quickly answered my question as to whether he was still alive. He was. There, standing quite still, slightly teetering, with his face pointing inside an open pet carrier, was the rooster. His entire body save for wings, head, and lower legs was entirely bald. Plucked clean as if being prepared for stew or roasting. (Very pink and raw, and bleeding in some places.) Even his tail had been completely pulled out.
Thick, majestic tails are characteristic of roosters, and they do more than enhance manliness; they are very important for balance. Our rooster cannot even bend down to eat or drink without falling over, so we now have to feed him by hand and hold a bowl of water up to his face until he's satisfied.
Last night, my youngest brother, Kyle, arrived home for Spring Break, bringing his large, rambunctious "puppy" along. All of our dogs are very friendly with the rooster. They all sleep together at night, and during the day, the rooster will watch over the dogs like they're his brood. All of them know that he is neither food, nor a toy, but our friend. Kyle's puppy does not know this.
When Aaron left for work in the morning, he let the puppy out to play with the other dogs. Something went terribly wrong and no one was there to witness it. My mother came out later to a mess of feathers and a rooster lying on his side with eyes closed, feet sticking straight out, completely stiff. She didn't want to investigate further, so woke Kyle up instead to have a look.
When Kyle peered over him, the rooster opened one cautious eye to see if the coast was clear. He'd been playing dead. Kyle's puppy probably had been sitting there for awhile, pulling feathers out as if he were a chew toy.
The poor thing. No source I've seen can state with certainty the average life span of a rooster. Some say five years; some say 15. Either way, ours is 10 years old and well into his golden years. His original hens are all long dead. He's always been completely docile. He stood by the side of our aging dalmatian for months before he died, making for one of the oddest sympathetic inter-species friendships I've ever seen. He is really just a weird, cool guy, and I'm so sorry that this happened to him.
Even from a distance, I could tell they were feathers. Scanned the yard for the rooster -- no sign of him. Scanned the yard for a rooster carcass -- no sign of one. The dogs slunk around guiltily as I pulled into the driveway. There were so very many feathers. I wondered if they'd eaten him entirely.
Walking into the house quickly answered my question as to whether he was still alive. He was. There, standing quite still, slightly teetering, with his face pointing inside an open pet carrier, was the rooster. His entire body save for wings, head, and lower legs was entirely bald. Plucked clean as if being prepared for stew or roasting. (Very pink and raw, and bleeding in some places.) Even his tail had been completely pulled out.
Thick, majestic tails are characteristic of roosters, and they do more than enhance manliness; they are very important for balance. Our rooster cannot even bend down to eat or drink without falling over, so we now have to feed him by hand and hold a bowl of water up to his face until he's satisfied.
Last night, my youngest brother, Kyle, arrived home for Spring Break, bringing his large, rambunctious "puppy" along. All of our dogs are very friendly with the rooster. They all sleep together at night, and during the day, the rooster will watch over the dogs like they're his brood. All of them know that he is neither food, nor a toy, but our friend. Kyle's puppy does not know this.
When Aaron left for work in the morning, he let the puppy out to play with the other dogs. Something went terribly wrong and no one was there to witness it. My mother came out later to a mess of feathers and a rooster lying on his side with eyes closed, feet sticking straight out, completely stiff. She didn't want to investigate further, so woke Kyle up instead to have a look.
When Kyle peered over him, the rooster opened one cautious eye to see if the coast was clear. He'd been playing dead. Kyle's puppy probably had been sitting there for awhile, pulling feathers out as if he were a chew toy.
The poor thing. No source I've seen can state with certainty the average life span of a rooster. Some say five years; some say 15. Either way, ours is 10 years old and well into his golden years. His original hens are all long dead. He's always been completely docile. He stood by the side of our aging dalmatian for months before he died, making for one of the oddest sympathetic inter-species friendships I've ever seen. He is really just a weird, cool guy, and I'm so sorry that this happened to him.
