Never name chooks!
Hugo didn't make it to 20 weeks, unfortunately. Or perhaps fortunately. He really wasn't very comfortable.
His comb was darkening at the tips (a possible sign of cardiac insufficiency). He gave up trying to tread hens, because he couldn't get his tail down. And then we had 3 days of 35C plus heat...
It was time to bite the bullet. He was never going to be a breeder, and was finding it harder and harder to get around. He panted a lot and looked stressed. So poor Hugo had a lovely big meal of mince and oats (his first in several days of lighter feed), a long wander around the yard to nibble grass, and then first thing in the morning he went where the less fortunate cockerels go... When it all came down to it, I didn't want to use him in the breeding pen. I didn't want to see those characteristics in any offspring.
And now that Hugo is gone I feel better. It's always a sign of a good decision. You walk out in the yard and see only happy healthy birds, and know you're not reproducing pain.
Meat isn't everything.