This was a day off, which was a good thing. My plan was to spend the day tending to my animals. And fortunately, the weather was conducive to this. After feeding and cleaning up after the mares, I went to take care of the goats and chickens. I looked in the chicken roost and saw the three red hens, Ruth, Bader, and Ginsberg, but not Thelma. I checked the coop, didn’t see her. I checked the roost again, didn’t see her. I again checked the roost and looked under the astroturf ramp. There was Thelma.

Alys and Thelma

I didn’t look really closely because I am slightly phobic about the sight of dead animals that are my own. But there was Thelma, my previously lovely white chicken, twisted and stiff.

I am glad I was here, on the home front today because I had time to take care of her corpse and to think about her. After breakfast, I buried her in the manure pile behind the hoop house. This is where Ranger is also buried. I think that by this time, her spirit had departed.

As I finished up, I had this image of her, accompanying Louise, the white hen, and all the other hens, up the driveway. And I thought, she’ll be back.

In a way, she did not have a great life. We got both Thelma and Louise from our friend, Anne Corinne Kell, who also gave us Snooky and Henrietta. For some time, these were the only two chickens that we had here. Then three years ago, my friend Heather gave us Ruth, Bader, and Ginsberg. I always thought that Thelma and Louise would have preferred that we not get any more chickens. It took some time, but all the chickens finally started to get along.

It was a tough winter for the old gal – sometimes her water was frozen, and I think the other three got more food than she did. Not fair of course, because while she wasn’t super socialized, she was a good layer.

I don’t know why she checked out at the end of winter. This action on her part defies logic. But then chickens are not known for being logical. They eat, sleep, lay eggs, and let you know when they are happy or sad.

All day I allowed myself to grieve. I don’t know why the loss of a horse or dog, or human being is considered to be more weighty than the death of a chicken. Shouldn’t the death of all things carry the same weight?

Now we are down to three chickens, two goats, two dogs, and three horses. I would not mind the addition of another chicken, goat, dog, and horse. I figure that if you have any animals at all, you are a sitting duck. Ducks, no because they have special needs. They must have a water source and we could not provide any thing other than a skating pond in the winter.

A sad day. At least we are going into summer rather than winter.

Next: 106. 4/17/23: At the Day’s End