Meg, Meg.... How could you?

In the previous entry we had checked with our City Hall on the ordinances of “Chicken Farmdom”, so we ordered all hens since it is illegal to own a rooster in town. Always, always check local ordinances before you order, it saves time, effort and headaches later on. Helpful hint: It costs just a little bit extra to order just hens at your local feed store, but it's better than taking your chances and hoping for the best. We ended up with Voltron, Margo, Mango, Rita and Meg all growing rapidly. Though, it seemed, one was growing faster than the others, including the wattle and comb. I was a bit worried at this point because the other hens were not growing that rapidly or were that aggressive. Still, I looked on the net and some of the hens also looked a bit like that so I tried to relax and ignore the doubt growing in the back of my mind
Until early one morning, we awoke to what sounded like the murdering of our chickens. Down the stairs we tore, Meg, in all... well, his glory, was attempting to crow. This was bad, really bad. Mark and I just stood there wondering what we would get first, a ticket or angry phone calls from neighbors. Here we were, trying to keep the peace and trying to show our neighbors that self sufficiency was within their reach by having our small brood... and all the while our brood was trying to wake them up at 5 am on a weekend. If this kept up, a mutiny would be in our future. Coming out of shock, we shooed Meg… errrr the rooster back into the darkened the pen. We then sat around the table with coffee trying to wake up and figure out what we would do. We couldn't very well keep him, not only it was illegal it was gratingly, and I mean "GRATINGLY" annoying. So the only thing we could do was to find him a new home and change his name. Meg just isn't a good name for a rooster (sorry sis)
Since, at that very moment, he was basically heading towards it, we decided to name him Sunday Dinner. I know, I know - it's not the best name in the world but not only was it 5 am, I grew up on a farm and you named animals things they were going to be, names like T-Bone and Porkchop. It helped take the cute, affectionate pet idea out of your head because you realized they had a purpose other than a yard ornament.
Was that the end of Sunday Dinner, did he meet his demise by one too many crows? Fortunately, for him, we found a home just outside of town for Sunday Dinner. They had lost their rooster and that meant he wouldn't be heading to the table anytime soon. Well, that meant we were down to four hens, which was okay. Plenty of eggs and plenty of fertilizer for our garden beds. We should still have enough eggs for us, our neighbors and hopefully enough eggs left over to sell so that they paid their own way. All is well that ends well... I think?