“You’re Dead to Me, Fredo.”

We have one simple rule on our farm.

No mean animals.

Those who terrorize, get terminated.

There was a chicken, a rooster, who stood next to a hen and her newly hatched brood. As a chick would venture out from under its mother's wings, the rooster would kill it with a sharp peck to the head. His goal, move the hen from maternal mode to mating mode. That rooster met his demise.

There were other animals that I forget. Because of their sins they no longer exist to me.

The latest animal to pay the price is a bullying guineafowl, a rooster. When corn is scattered he'd race across the yard to chase the chickens away from their corn even though he had plenty in front of him. When he chased after a chicken hen’s chicks, he went one step too far.

My husband, whose name is Mike, punched his ticket the other morning.

We have a box of Fettucine Alfredo Chicken Helper in the kitchen cupboard. I told Mike that we’d be having Fettuguinea Alfredo for supper. And that we should call the rooster Alfredo.

Mike finished his morning coffee, gathered up his implements, and headed out the door. “You’re dead to me, Fredo,” he said.

Guineafowl photo credit: MahaRogers. The Godfather II photo credit: Paramount Studios.