An Easter Story

I wasn't looking forward to my lunchtime task: burying a rooster.

I'd found him that morning when I let the chickens out of their shed. Apparently, he'd gotten into the wrong chicken shed and fought with the resident rooster. In the early morning light, I'd found him lying on his back, his feet stretched skyward, his eye swollen closed.

I planned to bury him at lunchtime, when there was more light and, hopefully, it wasn't raining.

I returned to the shed at lunchtime, and saw him lying in the same spot, on his back, his feet in the air. As I reached to pick him up, I noticed his chest was moving. Upon closer inspection, I saw he was breathing.

When I picked him up, he emitted a weak dinosaur roar.

Holding him up, I saw that one eye was swollen shut and the other was open and bright. His face and comb were spotted with dried blood. I carried him to the rooster condo where he would be separated from the flock, then gave him some grain and water.

A few minutes later, he gave his "come hither" crow to the hens.

"If you survive this, you've earned a name," I told him.