Unce upon a time, five Buff Orpington roosters lived among others in a backyard flock, somewhere in upstate New York. A lone Speckled Sussex was even more the outsider, for the flock was mostly made up of Rhode Island Reds.
One sunny day in the summer of 2007, the largest rooster of the flock, a Rhode Island Red who goes by no name, was set aside to become dinner. By "set aside", what I really mean is he was placed into the fenced in backyard, separated from the other chickens and their food, until the time came. But this fenced in yard also happens to be inhabited part-time by a Soft Coated Wheaten Terrier named Lexi.
And so it was, Lexi was let outside and chased the RIR rooster before I could grab either one of them. The rooster ran into some high weeds, the remnants of what used to be a nice flower garden. Lexi ran in after, and came out seconds later, but the rooster did not appear. The chicken must have found escape from the fenced yard, for nobody could find the rooster after much searching.
So the next in line was desperately chosen, as dinner time was drawing nearer with no poultry ready to grill. It was a tough choice, but finally one Buff Orpington rooster stood out as the second largest, and soon succumbed to the meat cleaver. One chop and that's all she wrote.
That evening, dinner plates were stacked high of barbequed pork ribs and a fresh chicken, right from the back yard. Wegman's Memphis Style Barbeque sauce and Frank's Red Hot sauce complimented the smoked meats well.
Soon thereafter, the orginal RIR rooster showed himself. A master of camoflage he proved himself to be, as nobody could find him a few hours earlier, but there he was, right where he had last been spied. He managed to avoid his fate on that June day. But alas, he shall become dinner on another eve, when the 20 will become 18.