I chase my exiled black bantam rooster into the yard from his solo layer in the barn. It is warm and sunny and he needs the air. He has been solo for two days while we were in Boston. His gorgeous fire engine red comb and wattles streak through the air as he flees behind the barn. The problem began last week. His mirror image, his father, began to attack him viciously. All during the winter they had co-habitated echoing each other’s cock-a-doodle-doos. Then the first warm spring weather arrived setting off the male territorial siren.
The morning after the first skirmish, the son fled out of the stall and disappeared. When he didn’t appear that night to be fed and closed in, I assumed he’s disappeared for good. But then the next morning, we heard him welcome the sun from atop of the fence just outside our window. He had survived the night and returned to the flock. I say to my husband, R that this little black bird is choosing life even at the risk of having to fight for it. I am impressed by his will to live, to stay connected to his flock.