Norah's Death Sentence is Commuted to Life in Rooster Heaven

A transcript of the conversation I had with Norah on Monday afternoon while sitting on the back porch reading:

    Norah: Er-er-er-er-ooooooo

    Me: (shocked) Norah Jones you be quiet!  No more making that noise you hear me!

    Norah: Er-er-er-er-ooooooo

    Me: I'm not kidding--stop that!

    Norah: Er-er-er-er-ooooooo

    Me: Good lord, chicken--hush!

Sweet Husband had been saying all week that he'd been hearing her crow sometimes, but I refused to believe him.  And just at that moment--hearing Norah's obvious crows from his spot in the living room--he tapped on the back window, looked at Norah, and made a sad face.  Truly, she must have crowed ten times, so loud and proud that there could be no mistake about it....

So now we know.  Norah is a rooster.

By Monday night, I had just about steeled myself to Norah's fate.  I had researched the proper age at which to butcher her (between 12 and 20 weeks), figured out the best method, and even watched a few YouTube demonstration videos.  I had also decided that it had to be done in our backyard, because I didn't want to scare or stress Norah out by transporting her somewhere else.  Then we'd have a big feast with good friends, goodies from the garden, and the tastiest roasted chicken I could manage.  The only decision left was whether to call a more experienced friend for assistance or try to go it alone.

Throughout this planning, I was ruthlessly pushing Norah's more charming characteristics out of my mind.  I tried to focus only on the fact that she's had a wonderful life, and even berated myself for my hypocrisy in feeling bad about what had to be done.  (I eat chicken quite often, after all.  Probably even sweet, personable little chickens.  Mostly without feeling too badly about it.)

Despite my best efforts otherwise, the vision of her prancing up to greet me every day when I come home from work was pulling at my heart quite a bit.  And don't get me started on the pictures of her as a little chick!  She's just so darned endearing.  I've been reading Animal, Vegetable, Miracle this week, and somewhere near the beginning the author mentions buying some baby animals for meat "and having the good sense not to name them".  FAIL.

But then, Tuesday afternoon, Nice Co-Worker came into my office after lunch.  She had spent the weekend at her parents farm in the country, and had related the tale of my illegal urban rooster.  Apparently, they have a big flock of chickens and have a job opening for an enterprising young rooster--they have very sweetly offered to give Norah a new home.  

So, not only is Norah not getting killed and roasted, she's getting a house in the country and a harem of hens--essentially, rooster heaven.  It's a happy ending for both of us!