Winston is holding on, which is what he is about. He’s lost his plume, is almost totally blind, and spends his days under the tractor behind the farmhouse. He never marches with his hens anymore, although his crowing is still robust. Annie and I bring him corn and grain several times a day, and make sure he is fed and okay. I always think this will be his last winter, and one day I will be right. Winston is an admirable figure in the animal world to me. He reminds me to be brave, to endure and to take the risks necessary to live your life. And to do your duty, to the end.