Life in Tasmania's Huon Valley, by a blow-in from the mainland
Sunday, January 5, 2014
RIP Russell Crowe
I killed Russell Crowe. It's something I should have done ages ago. This week I finally decided it was time for the reign of Russ the rooster to end. I should probably have done it after he started chasing and attacking me. I should definitely have done it after he was attacked by a quoll recently, and left with an injury to his shoulder/wing that would never be properly fixed. Then recently he started being aggressive towards the hens and in particular, viciously pecking the back of the neck of one of the girls until there was a gaping, bloody hole and I had to separate her from the flock. That was the last straw. Russell was a mean kind of rooster, but he was also such a handsome bird, so funny to watch as he danced and strutted and chatted up the ladies. But now Russ is dead. And I have a nice scar on the back of my leg to remember him by. All is quiet in the hen house this morning.
Escaped Sydney in 2010 for a piece of paradise in Tasmania's Huon Valley. I'm a keen walker, remote worker, incompetent gardener, Bernese Mountain Dog owner, fan of almost anything German (food, language, cars, beer), amateur linguist, chook fancier, childfree.