the day the crowing stopped

It's a sad day here on our little hobby farm. Our rooster died. No....he didn't just faint....he really did die. For those that don't know, he was a bit of a sissy and when confronted with a potential disaster, he ran into the bushes and fainted, leaving his harem to fend for themselves. But where he lacked in bravery he excelled in handsome good looks and a lot of crow-i-tude-e-ness. I will miss that serenade. (I stole this picture off the internet....can't find any that I took. But it looks just like him)
We are now left with 5 hens and one of those is pretty crippled up and can't get around very well. I have a feeling that these birds were a few years old when we bought them, so as sad as I am to say, I think it's time for the stewpot. They've not been laying well for awhile now and Art wanted to slaughter them earlier. My only concern was the rooster. Didn't seem fair to whack him because his girls weren't producing. Well, I guess that problem got solved, didn't it?

You'd never know that I grew up on a farm. That I belonged to 4H poultry for years as a youth. I have partaken in the raising, slaughter and butcher of many a barnyard fowl (as well as beast) and never batted an eye. So, why am I crying now?