After letting the animals out first thing after night shift
I grabbed -a one hour sleep, then took Chris down to the station, walked the dogs and returned
home to catch up with jobs.
I couldn't help noticing the bundle of feathers lying quietly in the corner of a run when I entered the field......
Without a fuss the blind old rooster Cogburn, like his cinematic namesake, had finally faded into the sunset
He Sat on his porch so to speak, with his face in the sun, and there, quite suddenly and gently, he had died.
You can't get too sentimental over poultry.
They are scatterbrained scraps of feathers connected together by a beak who die as easily as Christmas cards are thrown in the bin after Boxing Day .
But there was something always so very valliant about Cogburn who lived his small blind life in a chicken wire run without misery and without resignation.
Got on with things.
A bit later I will take his body down to the badger set in the next field
There is no point not to recycle his remains
But for the moment
I can't quite get around to move him from his small , earth floor home
So I will leave him for a while
My old cowboy