When we decided to get chickens, a lady in our church told us to come over and help ourselves to whatever we wanted of her large flock. With her help we picked out a dozen or so layers. She asked if we wanted a rooster too and indicated a large, young black fellow who she said was getting beat up by some of the other roos. I glanced over at him, thought he was very handsome and said we would take him, naming him Elvis on the spot. I didn't realize how well I had named him; he was a 24-hour-a-day crower - a real singer! But we didn't mind, he was a very good boy. We had him three or four years and then one morning when I went out to toss scratch to the flock, I found him lying peacefully in a corner of the run. He"s the one chicken I've lost that I've really missed and felt regret that their lifespans are so short. He was a good one. This was probably 7 or 8 years ago so I'm not emotional about it. I just enjoy the good memories. 
That Elvis boy, he was a singer!
That Elvis boy, he was a singer!
I've had so many deaths lately I am starting to think I'm a very bad chicken keeper. I lost Georgie 2weeks ago, then I lost 6 if my laying hens and a Silkie to a fox 1week ago and now I lost Crooksie
