The King is Gone

The woman was moving away and needed a home for her chickens. She had some beautiful Dark Cornish hens and a magnificent Buff Cochin rooster.  I told her I’d take the hens, but not the rooster, as we already had a rooster and I didn’t think they’d get along well.  No deal, she answered, the rooster and the hens have to stay together. Reluctantly I agreed, figuring I could make sure that no one got hurt when the roosters sorted things out.

I didn’t give our rooster Dee Dee much of a chance against the newcomer, who we named Elvis.  But much too my surprise Dee Dee not only defeated Elvis, but Elvis nearly died as a result–not from any physical injury, but from the humiliation.  Fortunately Elvis eventually recovered and accepted his new subordinate role. (Story told HERE).

But I later learned that Elvis had only been biding his time.  Surprising me a second time, Elvis emerged victorious in a swift but decisive rematch, and took his place as the king of our flock.  (Story told HERE).

Elvis.  The king.

Elvis. The king.

Elvis reigned supreme on White Flint Farm until a few days ago.  We’d seen him stumble a few times lately, and then about a week ago he started sleeping on the floor of the coop, apparently unable to fly up to the roosting poles.  We knew Elvis was nearing the end of his life.

The end came Monday and now his understudy Little Richard has assumed command of the flock.

Little Richard.  Long live the king.

Little Richard. Long live the king.

Elvis was a gentle giant around humans.  He defended his ladies when necessary and sired a lot of chicks. He was a noble and dignified bird.  He will be missed.

RIP Elvis.

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