The “King” is dead. We got home from vacation to discover the disturbing news that Elvis, our rooster, was savagely taken by a coyote. All that remained of him was a few drops of blood and a pile of his beautiful tail feathers. We were all in denial. We walked our property calling for him. We tried luring him with food scraps. We waited to see if he would make his way into the coop for the night. He never did. That night, as we toasted to my husband’s 40 th Birthday with sparkling cider, Thing 1 calls out, “And to Elvis, the bravest rooster alive...or dead. I guess, " and we had a moment of silence for the sacrifice he made for his hens. All of us knew what kind of rooster he was. He was big and regal. He had gorgeous, clean white feathers with a bit of silver around his neck and in his tail. He reminded us of “The King of Rock' n Roll” in his famous white and silver jumpsuit, henc...
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