Some of you may not yet know that Strut, our rooster and a charter member of the Bedlam Farm Men’s Club, was dispatched last week after he attacked me and Maria, and drew a bit of blood. I hardly know anyone who has had a rooster or been around one that didn’t have to get rid of them, one way or another. I’ve had some good and gentle ones, but mostly, they turn mean when they get older and bigger. A testosterone thing, it happens to many men.

The death of Strut marked something of an evolution for me in my writing, and for the blog and people who follow it. I think there is a much greater understanding of what the life of a farm is like. I am not a farmer, but I do live on a farm, and my idea of life is not to have me, Maria or the many people, including children, who visit here, get scarred or assaulted by a rooster, even though he is just doing his job. I found that this time what was different is that I didn’t have to explain this, it wasn’t one of those Internet hysterias. You may recall the raging controversies swirling whenever an animal dies here or was put to death. I live on the curious boundary between pets and animals and I work hard to bridge that gap. Sometimes I do, sometimes not.

In America, there are now very many people who value animal life as much or more than human life, and who find death in any form unacceptable. While I wish they were running the government, I’m glad they are not running my farm.

Strut was a good rooster, a beautiful and dutiful creature. Only one person wrote me an angry message, suggesting I didn’t value life and also venturing the idea that I’d probably kill Zelda if she knocked me or Red down again. She took exception to my saying I had become a good shot, no doubt thinking I was crowing like a rooster. But I am glad I am a good shot, as the animals I have to shoot do not suffer. She  said she was taking a sabbatical from the blog. A good idea, I think. I have come to believe in cooling off periods. Still, I take responsibility for putting up appealing photos of these animals, and I understand why it is a shock to people when they die. As I wrote last week, photography is an intimate art, and when you photograph something as often as I photographed Strut, I feel it in a particular way. I try and remember the animals who are gone. It is a long and glorious list.

The farm is the Mother, it has taught me so much about life and death, acceptance and ethics.