two nights I've hovered over a basket on the kitchen table, nursemaid to the waning life of a rooster I called Silver. Sometimes he seemed to perk up, to hold his head high, cluck and eat the grapes I offered him (his favorite treat), and watch with interest at the goings on in the house around him. Sometimes, in the night, he's wailed, and I've run to his side and comforted him, helped him change position and covered him again. If you've never heard a chicken wail, it is a sad and lonesome sound. Especially coming from the once powerful rooster who ruled the roost of my back yard for the last 5 years.
today, he can barely open his eys. His breathing is belabored and he is flattened out on his pillow, wings sprawled and neck elongated. What little comfort I can offer, he seems oblivious to. Almost comatose, cooler to the touch than yesterday. Still, I've covered him and kept the house warmer than usual. I doubt very much he will survive another day.
~L
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