And Then There Were Three

Earlier today as I was taking out the trash, I heard a symphony of panicked squawks from our hens in Paradise Towers. I’d heard that sound before. It could only mean one thing. One of the hens had died.

And indeed, the three surviving hens were huddled near the body of Amelia, who we usually called “Big Red”. She was old – all of our hens are pretty old at this point – and there was no indication that she had died of anything but natural causes.

I buried her near the grape arbor and sang the Salve Regina in my croaking way. She is survived by our three remaining hens, Thelma Lou, Princess Buttercup, and George.

Rest easy, Big Red.