I buried Soup this morning. I knew yesterday that he would be gone this morning, from the way he stood huddled, apart from his harem, disinterested in the wheat I scattered.
He was a good fellow; handsome, calm and virile – all one could ask for in a rooster really. He never attacked anyone, and was not overly rough with the hens. He was a good rooster, and I think he had a good life. He must have been 5 years old or more when he died, having fathered hundreds of chicks and been the alpha male in the coop all that time. He lived his whole life in that coop, having hatched there. But his children have spread, some having gone hundreds of kilometers to new homes.
This morning three chicks hatched in the incubator, and another clutch are due to hatch in a week. These will be the last of his children.
I buried Soup between the apple trees behind the coop. He was a good rooster.
anotherKate 
what a wonderful tribute; I’ve written a few rooster poems: my former partner kept chooks; Soup would have puffed out his chest if he read this 🙂
Thanks John :) I’ll have to look for your rooster poems now.
I’ve written a few too, including this one also about Soup https://anotherkatewilson.wordpress.com/2022/04/10/summoning-the-sun/
He came pretty close to being soup many mornings with his 0400 crowing!
I found Mr Barnes! Wonderful! Impressive stamina. :D And the road crossing rooster, maybe he was going walkabout like Mr Barnes.
We intended to have chickens. We have the room, but can be away for days / weeks at a time and would worry about them. From your tribute to Soup I can see how attached you become. It is a nice way to be and I think a tribute is appropriately respectful of an animal that has served you well.
I did become fond of Soup, but generally have had no qualms about cooking his brothers and sons.
With a large feeder and waterer you can have chooks and be away for days at least. It’s the pig that makes it hard for us to go away.