It was only a day or so ago that we were talking about Baby – our diminutive cockerel. The tiny rooster that never really grew up. Bullied by the rest of the flock he moved permanently into The Emerald Castle. A solitary life that he so clearly loved away from the rasp of sharp beaks and fear. He grew a little, put on weight and started preening himself. But he never was able to crow like the big boys.
I knew that something was wrong this morning when he didn’t appear in the Castle grounds. He was always eager for his morning corn – pressed up against the metal netting strutting back and forth.
I scattered the corn around the rest of the run before I took a peek inside The Castle. Baby was dead – small eyes closed and head outstretched.
Even though we suspected that his life would be short – he suffered from a sort of petit mal and would often close his eyes and flop – it was a shock.
I loved this little bird. Knew that I shouldn’t let myself get too fond of him.
I crawled under the duvet with Inca and wept for my little friend and the joy that he’d given me every day.
Leave a reply