I hate to even write this post…
It was a quiet Thursday afternoon and I was working from home, getting tons of stuff done. No distractions from the office, no phone calls, no interruptions. Just the soft clucking of the hens. Oh, and a nice, long crow. I heard the crow loud and clear. I knew it was a crow, but it wasn’t the full cockle-doodle-doo. So I kept referring to my chickens as “the girls” and kept calling our Plymouth Rock “Stella”.
Then Saturday morning came along. All was quiet in the household around 7:00am, and then the cockle-doodle-doo came drifting in the windows. I’ve known it for awhile, but Stella is officially Steve.
We like Steve a lot. He’s fairly friendly, beautiful, and we hate to see him go. But living in the city, go he must. Before we make up another dish of Coq au Vin though I am trying to see how likely we could find him a home on a farm somewhere. I have put in a few inquiries so far, but nothing yet. If you know of someone who lives within a country drive of Portland, that keeps chickens, that would like a rooster, that doesn’t already have a rooster, then I would love to bring our friend Steve out there. Just leave a comment down below or email me: firstname.lastname@example.org
The crowing can’t go on very long in the city, so a decision will have to be made in the next couple weeks. It’s not the end of the world for us if Steve becomes dinner. But he does seem a bit too regal to end up in the stew pot.