"Ernie"

Our lovely little black-and-white rooster left the yard today in the mouth of our neighbor's dog.

"Ernie," as we called him, was a Silver-Spangled Hamburg, and he and the three hens of his breed have spent their lives doing their best to maintain a minimum of 15 feet between themselves and humans. Yesterday, I had a few minutes to myself, and went out to sit on the grass. I was soon joined by the usual quiet, friendly Buff Orpingtons and the occasional Ameraucana, but was quite surprised to find Ernie approaching quite closely. I wondered whether he'd become more territorial and was coming to send me away, but he only had interest in the hens. He spent five or ten minutes strutting silently around me, keenly interested in the eggs I'd rested in the grass after collecting from the coop. He tried to mount a couple of the hens, but he has had a limp for a few days, which has made mating quite out of reach for him.

As he moved around me, closer than he's been since he was a tiny chick, I got a chance to see his plumage up close. He was just beautiful. White feathers that sprayed out in a mane along his neck, then draped down along his back and chest to delicate little points. The feathers on his rump were the same, only with a black tip where they draped down, moving like water. His primary tail feathers were just like the hens', with their proud, nearly vertical holding, but the rooster also carried several trailing, pointed feathers that looped up beside his tail and then dropped back down toward the ground, subtle green in the tips, just a sheen.

I was also able to see yesterday, being so close, just how much of his visiual field was lost due to his "rose comb." This is quite an old breed, so I imagine they must be able to survive fairly well, but I felt that it was unjust for him to have such a disadvantage in life. His comb protruded out into a large mass that sat above his beak, blocking essentially all of his frontal vision. It makes me sad to think of him scrambling tonight with the other birds to get away from the dog, only to be slowed by his bum leg and his vision blocked by his comb.

I'm very grateful to have had that time with him yesterday, the gift of being close to him in a peaceful way, of viewing him up close, taking in all of his beauty, his personality, before the dog carried him away today. Grateful that he gave me that, that he allowed that. I found quite a few of his feathers in the yard after everyone departed (two neighbors saw the dog chasing the chickens and ran over to try to stop him), which is how I determined that he was the one who had been taken. I kept the ones that did not have his blood on the quills. They are all beautiful.

I set out a tea candle in our fire pit tonight for him, rested it on a little nest of the remainder of his feathers in the center of the pit. I have not had a fire in the firepit since my husband dug it out for me, and I was warmed and pleased to see how the light illuminated the inner surfaces of the rocks that line it. It was a tiny light in the night, but enough to give me company, to honor and bless the bird.

The moon is bright and sharp tonight.