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Our Banty rooster had no name.
We called him "Super Chick".
No predator could catch him,
He was just far too quick.
When he was newly from his shell,
Still in his mother's nest,
A sneak attacker killed his mom
And carried off the rest.
We didn't know this little one
Had managed to survive
Until we found him with the flock
Amazingly alive.
We watched for him each time we fed
And he was alway there,
Holding his own against the odds
Without a mother's care.
He grew into a handsome fowl,
More beautful than most
With iridescent feathers that
Would make a peacock boast.
The other roosters were picked off
All singly, one by one,
Until we decided raising
Banty chickens wasn't fun.
Super Chick was left to guard
His little Banty harem.
A neighbor's dog thought it would be
Hilarious to scare them.
Super knew that it was he
Who must take the big dog's dare.
He flew at the cur who fought back
And left him lying there.

Our little Banty is no more.
We took his loss so hard
That never again will we have
Pretty Bantys in our yard.


Written for Dane Ann's Contest  Won 9th place

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