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What a bucolic scene. Our daughters playing in the backyard while the flock of chickens skitters about at their feet. So country. So Vermont.

That is until the fucking rooster decides to go ape shit and attack our three-year old. Spurs out. Full on cockerel fight style. See this image for a vision of what he looked like when he went after her.

Not okay.

Then that shit is not so bucolic and the Mama Bear in me comes out in full force. Emilio has sealed his fate, my friends. We will be feasting on true free range, organic, backyard chicken next week. I just cannot put my children at risk for the sake of a rooster. While he has been a beautiful addition to the farm, and has helped herd the hens away from some circling hawks, this aggression cannot stand. It’s why I didn’t want a rooster from the start, and paid a whopping $3 insurance to guarantee a set of pullets (female chicks) – but, clearly the insurance was not full proof, and despite my hopes for a docile rooster (an oxymoron, I know), it appears that animal nature is just that, animal nature.

And so, a tasty chicken dinner is on the horizon.

Sunny is fine. She has a small puncture mark in her right arm from where she was nicked with a spur, but is otherwise a-okay. James intervened immediately. He was standing right there. Emilio was responding to Sunny’s interest in trying to pet him, as she has done with all the chickens since they arrived in June. But he’s getting older, more mature, and his rooster-nature took over and instead of just squabbling away from her, he responded. And aggressively.

We will slaughter him as humanely as possible. And we will be thankful for the meal that he will provide our family. Sunny has already informed us that he will be delicious. I can’t get over what a balanced, healthy view she has of the food chain at such a young age.

And on a more positive note, we are now collecting multiple eggs a day from our flock. And it is magnificent. We found our first blue egg this morning. And, yes, it is just as cool as it sounds.