We lost another chicken. I’m reblogging my wife’s post because she says it more eloquently than I can right now. RIP, Crosby.
My last post was about losing a chicken. This one is going to be much the same, I think.
This morning, I found a text from my chicken co-caretaker, saying that she found a dead chicken in a nest box the day before. This was sudden — I thought I’d been keeping a pretty good eye on them. I thought I’d see some indication before it happened again. I thought that we were in the clear, now that the days aren’t quite so hot, and we’ve made some revisions to keep the chickens cooler.
I guess things can still happen.
The worst part of it is that today, when I went to visit them, I had the sudden thought of “What if it’s Crosby?” which was swiftly followed by, “Oh God, it’s Crosby.” Sure enough, she was the missing hen. Crosby is gone. She’s not hiding (I looked everywhere). She’s…
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