Squire, my 11-plus-year-old rooster, died yesterday, Saturday, September 17, 2022.
This photo, taken September, 2016, shows Squire at his most dramatic, crowing joyfully, but in celebration of Toozie's death and release from earthly struggles.
I hope my Squire-wire feels a similar joyful release. He leaves a sad but relieved human being behind.
I've watched Squire decline for almost a year, since Brownie died last October. Although he continued to watch out for Tweety, spar with Speckles, and ascend to the top of the shower stall of a morning, if I didn't catch him first, he has been losing weight, and his crow was beginning to crack, as though he no longer had the wind or vocal dexterity to finish his five notes.
Tweety and Speckles are adapting, but they seem sad, too, as I am, because Squire is no longer there to guard and to crow and spar.
We all have to die sometime. As I enter my 70s, I feel more acutely than ever the impending personal transition.
Squire left lots of memories behind, memories I share, in part, with Tweety and Specs. I see his memory in every situation.
I love you, Squire, and will never forget how you brightened up my life. May you rest in peace.