Requiem of a Rooster

Most people see a rooster and hear a noise. On this farm, when we looked at Squish, we saw a survivor, a gentleman, and the undisputed king of the morning.

Squish didn't arrive here with a long-term lease on life. To be honest, he came to the farm to be a "butcher rooster." His story was supposed to be a short one—a few days of grain and a final Sunday dinner. But Squish had other plans. He looked at the fate laid out for him and decided he was simply too busy running the place to bother with it.

The Bird of Nine Lives

They say cats have nine lives, but Squish must have had a dozen. He survived three separate butcher attempts, looking destiny in the eye and walking away every time. He fought off a raccoon attack and stared down dogs who saw him as nothing more than a meal.

After witnessing that kind of iron-willed tenacity, we knew he wasn't meant for the table. We gave him a stay of execution, and in return, he gave us his absolute devotion. For every single morning we have lived on this farm, Squish was the one who pulled the sun over the horizon. He was our alarm clock, our security guard, and our constant companion.

A Gentleman Among Hens

While some roosters rule through fear, Squish ruled through service. He was a "ladies' man" in the truest, most chivalrous sense of the word. He never ate a choice grub or a kitchen scrap without first calling the girls over with that frantic, rhythmic "tidbitting" cluck. He’d stand back, chest puffed out, watching his hens feast on the best bugs before he ever took a bite for himself.

He showed us that even in a world of "pecking orders," you can lead with kindness and protection.

The Empty Fence Post

Today, the farm feels a little off-balance. The sun came up, but it felt like it had to do the heavy lifting itself this time. His foot prints starting to melt in the last of the winter snow.  The hens are wandering the yard, perhaps wondering why no one is pointing out the best scrap piles or standing guard against the shadows. Even the young rooster, who has been with us for a year, seems hesitant—uncertain now that the heavy crown of the yard has landed on his head. He has big spurs to fill.

Squish taught us that your beginning doesn't have to define your end. He was meant to be a meal, but he chose to be a legend.

Rest easy, Squish. The grubs are plentiful where you’re going, and the sun is always at high noon. We’ll take the watch from here.