No prefaces, no soft intro's.
We lost Sharone on Monday.
That big beautiful boy.
He was acting lethargic so we brought him into the house Saturday evening. On Sunday he was eating, drinking and pooping. All a good sign. I wondered if he had a slight infection and just needed a few days of rest (Pippi had been picking on him in the coop). But when I got home Monday evening, Rick told me he had died.
And of course the guilt sets in - what could I have done.
In tribute, let's look at the boy in 2023. See the progression as his color blossomed:
If you recall, I was not pleased when I discovered the "hen" I had purchased was not a hen. I had avoided roosters hearing/reading the horror stories of aggression toward hens and people.
But Sharone was never aggressive. Just a big sweet boy.
Sweet Pea was alive when he arrived and when his hormones kicked in. As he tried to get cozy with her, she puffed up like a banshee and told him who was boss. He said, "fine ma'am" and backed away.
His job after Pippi arrived was rescuing the girls. Pippi would charge after one of the hens, she'd be squawking in protest, and Sharone would scurry over to tell Pips to back off. Now the girls have no protection from the sex maniac.
The kick in the pants is he was so young; he was approaching three years in April.
The last photo I have of the boy was of him hanging with Jo. I had intended to tell you I thought they were an item, but now...
