He was the smallest, proudest, most photogenic rooster one could ask for. And he's gone. Somewhere between is advanced age (for a chicken) ,the extreme cold, and his tiny size, he didn't make it.
I've been working on a children's story with Mr. Collins as the star. Granted, the writing has been off and on as the words came to me, but now, that physical manifestation of that inspiration is no more.
Farewell, Mr. Collins, you have no idea how much joy you gave people when you strutted up, puffed out your chest, and let out the biggest crow you could muster. You will be missed.