Mrs. Perkin had rescued Romeo from an unruly group of local young men who were backing him in fights across the county. On her way home from delivering Mr. Perkin his lunch one day, she had witnessed Romeo spar with Tootsie, the local favorite. Dust and blood and feathers filled the air. Mrs. Perkin watched and felt a sense of exhilaration. When Romeo ruffled his feathers in triumph, she knew that she must have him. It had taken almost six months for her to bring the rooster back to some form of domesticity, and she guarded that control and presence in his life with a possession close to motherhood.

The basket of seed was now empty. Romeo had missed his breakfast. Mrs. Perkin tapped her foot—one, two. Then she asked the gardener to look for him and went inside to phone the neighbors.

Mrs. Kowalski had not seen Romeo. Neither had Mrs. Bronston. Mrs. Dewipple had not laid eyes on him either, although she had noticed that some of her own chickens were behaving strangely. Mrs. Perkin thanked the neighboring wives, hung up the phone, took her place at the breakfast table, and began to worry.

At that moment Mr. Alan Perkin came downstairs with his shoes untied. He took his seat, spread his napkin across his lap, picked up a small silver spoon from the table, and used it to tap the soft-boiled egg in the tiny porcelain cup in the center of his plate. Everything in his morning routine followed a precise schedule that he left, each night before, with the butler.

“Good morning, my dear,” said Mr. Alan Perkin. His wife did not answer him. She was looking out the window and wondering where Romeo could be. This bothered Mr. Perkin. When he came to his breakfast table, he announced his arrival by greeting his spouse and expected a cordial reply.

“Hello,” he said. His wife had upset the balance of his day and he wanted her to know it.

Mrs. Perkin did notice the change in tone of her husband’s voice and it immediately aggravated her. Her jaw tightened and she turned her chair slightly, away from the table.

This move worried her husband. He mentally flipped through his behavior over the past week (an anniversary? her birthday?) and came up empty. He ate his soft-boiled egg in a confused silence. His wife ate nothing and continued to look out the window. Soon it came time for Mr. Alan Perkin to leave for work. He checked his watch, put down his spoon, and waited for his wife to tie his shoes.

Mrs. Perkin gazed at the yard outside. She remembered running her fingers along Romeo’s neck, and how he would bob his head when she touched him, as though he were enthusiastically agreeing with something she’d said.