Tuesday Tails- a Sad tale of Bully and Henry

Bully and I are by the coop fence next to to the river.  There was an overnight flight cage, to the left.
The Mallards took baths in the river and then flew in to get some corn.

Bully was my White Leghorn Rooster.  He protected his hens from all and sundry but lost one of his eyes to my Bantam Rooster, Henry.

I loved them both so much but as is the way with all farm animal "Pets", if they outgrew their usefulness or - on our farm-crossed swords with Psycho Dad, they ended up in the stew pot.  That was Henry's fate, and he died before my eyes, gasping for his life on the ground, with me forbidden to pick him up or even to cry.  Mother would have come then, you see.   

There is a whole space of time that I can't remember very much regarding my pets, especially my dogs.  I did save one of my cats from summary justice by pointing out the difference in the hairs in the chicken coop wires with those of my black and white cat.  I think The Paternal Unit, himself a student of the Law, thought it was a very clever legal move on my part, and conceded the trial to the defense.   I say that good forensics is the very foundation of a successful legal challenge.

On a happier note:  We can now have chickens in suburbia, in the form of five hens.  DH and I are still "thinking about it."  We can even have two mini goats, but that will never go anywhere.  The most I can hope for is to baby sit a little goat in the winter to eat the weeds in the back forty.