During and after WWII there was a Canadian chicken farmer who fed his flock of chickens free leftover grain from a gin-making factory nearby, since chicken feed was hard to get in winter. The hens weren’t too thrilled with the taste, but one rooster couldn’t get enough of it for a few days, and gorged himself finishing off the feeder contents. The farmer found him lying in the yard, non-responsive and cold, looking very dead indeed. And since they really needed his feathers in their home pillows, he plucked the rooster and deposited his carcass atop a pile of still-warm compost. Later that day, they heard a rooster crowing and, looking out the window, saw this plucked rooster strutting about the yard in the snow, shivering and crowing like a banshee. Poor farmer’s wife felt so sorry for him she knitted a custom jacket for him to wear until the feathers grew back out…… which they did, but I wish we had a picture of that…..