Little Billy came home from school to see the family’s pet rooster dead in the front yard. Rigor mortis had set in and it was flat on its back with its legs in the air. When his Dad came home Billy said, “Dad

When his dad finally arrived home from work, Billy was waiting for him with a solemn expression on his face. “Dad,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper, “there’s something I need to tell you.”

His dad, sensing the seriousness of the situation, knelt down in front of Billy and gently placed a hand on his shoulder. “What is it, son? What’s wrong?”

Billy took a deep breath, summoning the courage to speak. “It’s… it’s about the rooster,” he began, his voice catching in his throat. “He’s… he’s dead, Dad. I found him in the front yard.”

His dad’s face fell, a look of sadness crossing his features. He had grown fond of the rooster over the years, and the news of its passing hit him hard. But he knew he had to be strong for Billy’s sake.