The Roosters Must Die


[The three roos.]

[Mr. Barred Rock.]

[Mr. Red Tamale.]


[Ms. Christina, an Ameraucana, gets a name and gets to stay.]

[Ms. Tori, the Queen'o'the Flock.]

We have a crower.  The barred rock--the one I've known was a roo since about the day after we brought him home--started in Sunday afternoon.  

The red tamale (it's been good for my feelings not to name them, but it's more difficult for writing), is also clearly spouting a tail.  Even though he's not crowing yet, he'll go with Mr. Barred Rock.

The little Ameraucana, who's also in that top picture, is a little harder.  If we didn't have another one of the same kind to compare him to, I'd probably let him stay.  However, when I see the two of them next to each other, it seems likely that--scrawny as he is--he is a "he" and she's a "she".  I may be wrong, but I'm sure enough to make the call.

So, three of my four little straight-run tamales are headed out to our friends' farm for slaughter this week.  (We can't kill them in town, so we'll load them up.)  One is going to stay and get the ultimate prize around these parts--a name.  

The flock grand-dame, Ms. Tori--pictured at bottom--says, "Welcome to the flock-proper, Ms. Christina."