Spock died today. There was no funny business, he just died. I remember thinking these past couple of weeks that I hadn’t heard him crowing. But I thought it was because he was just a couple weeks shy of his third birthday and he just didn’t feel like it anymore. Then yesterday I heard him, stronger and louder than the rest of the roosters, above all other noises I heard Spock. This morning I gave him a handful of grapes as I always do. And he called his girls over and they gathered around him clucking and happy as could be. When I went to feed this afternoon he lay still the yard, not a feather out of place, not a scratch on him. There was just darkness about his head and comb like perhaps his little heart had finally quit. I will miss my Spock.
Spock lived his whole life live free and loud. He wore no collar and was never shut away in the coop. I chose not to compromise. I chose not to let Crazy Lady win. Spock lived as a rooster might dream to live-with more hens than he could breed and more food than he could ever hope to eat.
“Please take care of my Spock, Dad.”
I don’t think that anyone will mind the crowing in heaven, but I will sure miss it here.
Oh no, I am so sorry. I have been following your adventures and have enjoyed reading them.... R.I.P. Spock.