come and go

this is Mr. King Whitey, on her way to the barn

Finally, our house is a people house once again. We recently took the last of the (very stinky) baby chicks out to live in the barn until they're big enough to hold their own with the rest of the flock.

The bird in the photo is Oliver's little chicken, named Mr. King Whitey. I only buy female chicks, but sometimes we have to pretend they're boys to keep the peace.

It's good that we have 8 growing chicks waiting in the wings because the other birds seem to be dropping like flies. We've lost several to the fox, there's always a raccoon hanging around and a couple days ago when I went out to put the birds to bed, a red one lay dead. I think she broke her neck flying around the perch. Luckily for me, we were not personally attached. When we lose a friend bird with a name, there is suffering.

One dilemma that arises when an animal dies is what to do with it. In the first years, we would hold a proper funeral ceremony and burial. Now, I just want to wrap them up and sneak them into the trash, which is what I did with this most recent one. Inevitably, there is the issue of telling the kids. They can be counted on to ask, "What did you do with it, Mama?" Even though I said a few nice words to the deceased before I guiltily tossed the bag into the can, it is quite creepy to hear myself say, "I threw it away."