One Down, Twenty-Five to Go

The reaper visited our chickens yesterday.

The Cornish Crosses are known for dropping dead occasionally, the result I suppose of being a hybrid that grows so darn fast. Sometimes they grow so fast their hearts can't keep up and they "flip", die suddenly of heart failure. We were sure Death was coming for one little guy, Nudie Bum (the only one with a name. You may remember him from a past post - he has issues with his vent), as his comb has been an awful shade of purple for the last week but he's still alive and kicking.

No, Nudie Bum lives but an anonymous hen is no more. The husband let them out of their ramshackle coop yesterday morning to eat and free range and between the time he opened the door and set down the feeder one hen tipped over and died. Bummer.

Two things to be thankful for though. Although we ordered and paid for 25 chickens we recently realized we do indeed have 26 and the dead chicken is a hen and not one of the much meatier roosters. Wait, three things to be thankful for. It was compost day yesterday and since it's not advisable to eat a chicken when you can't be sure what it died from we could toss it right into the compost bin for the truck to pick up in the afternoon.

Good timing on Death's part.