This is not an ordinary blog post, nor is it what you might expect to hear associated with a rooster. But we’re not talking about any ordinary rooster. We’re talking about Mr. Fancypants.

A few years back I sought to replenish our dwindling coop population. I visited a small farm and was given the choice of any hens (roosters can be so mean!) from one of their coops. I picked four but had a hard time choosing the fifth. They had such an unusual menagerie of hens to select from! The farmer suggested the gray furry one in the corner. She was so comical and whimsical-looking, with such a plume of feathers down her legs, it appeared as if she were wearing a pair of pants! Instantaneously I decided this chicken must come home with us!

Thankfully the new hens got along well with the older ones. Each morning I went out to the coop to feed the hens, but on one particular day, I was shocked to hear her making a crowing sound. A hen that crows? They promised me this was not supposed to be a rooster! She’s too sweet to be a rooster!

Soon it became inarguably obvious this chicken was not a hen. My husband and I decided he could stay if he were not aggressive. Against all expectations, he became more and more laid back and gentle with each passing day. I had to name this guy something that would appropriately pay homage to his gray feathered "pants." I called him “Mr. Fancypants.”

Each time I entered the coop there he was, waiting for me to hand-feed him cracked corn. He would patiently wait while I replenished one handful of cracked corn kernels after another. In time he allowed me to pet him like a cat. When I called his name, he would come to me, seeking affection... and more corn. You could say he and I shared a special bond (or maybe it was just that I knew how to open the corn can and would feed him by hand.) I wondered, who couldn’t possibly love this flamboyant, well-feathered rooster?

This past summer it was time to add a few more resident hens to our coop. You could say that history repeated itself; as the new hens began to lay eggs, one didn’t. Nope. This one decided to crow instead. ANOTHER ROOSTER!

All seemed well until this new rooster we named “Oliver” decided he was the king of the coop. Last week I entered the coop to find Oliver fighting with my sweet Mr. Fancypants. I broke up the fight only to see an acutely injured Mr. Fancypants limping on a fiercely injured left foot. He was whining in pain. I held him and gave him corn. Despite my fears, he seemed to rally back to health. He still limped but continued to wait for me each day by the corn can. He would nibble corn from my hands until his belly could hold no more. Sadly he was relegated to the inside of the coop by Oliver, but his fondness for both me and corn never abated.

Until this morning.

I went out to feed our ducks and chickens in their perspective coops and was not greeted in the chicken coop by Mr, Fancypants. I looked all over the coop only to find him lifeless, in the corner of the coop. I gently picked him up, and his little head dropped down by his side. His comb had lost its bright red hue, his tiny little eyes were closed, and he was still, yet peaceful. I had lost my sweet feathered friend.

As I mourn my beloved Mr. Fancypants, I am aware of all that I learned from him: nature might not always seem kind, but it will always remain the law of the land. It might not be forgiving, but we must; there are rhyme and reason for all that occurs under its domain. Survival of the fittest is the rule. Mr. Fancypants was growing old, and Oliver is young and more able to care for his flock. I also learned that time is fleeting and memories must be made without delay. Recently, many days I went to feed the brood and was in a hurry. Mr. Fancypants would patiently wait for me to bond with him, yet I would stop at only two handfuls of corn so I could move on with my day. He wasn't finished, but I was. He wanted more. I, on the other hand, was in a rush to move on. I would do anything to have one more chance to be in the coop with him, offering him as much corn as his tiny belly could hold, and petting as he would stand still to allow. The memories we made outweigh the laundry and chores I made my priority over our bonding. Lastly, who says bonding with a chicken is impossible or futile? I allowed myself to love him with a full heart, regardless of the fact that he was simply a chicken and not a dog, cat or human. EVERY SOUL COUNTS!

My sweet rooster friend left an impression on my heart. Forever I will miss Mr. Fancypants, and his feathers will always be on my heart. Fly free, my friend. Heaven holds a place for sweet roosters like you.