DESCRIPTION:
Elihu and I have mixed feelings about the recent demise of Mr. Roosevelt. We found him headless in the field last night. He died, we like to believe, defending his flock.

While he was the handsomest rooster a homestead could boast, life with him around was mildly stressful. One needed always to have a spray bottle in hand to deter him from testosterone-inspired attacks (he liked to attack when your back was turned). We miss him, yet we breathe (and walk) a little easier today.