Ethel didn’t make it. I put her out in the coop overnight, since that was where she would be safest. When I went to let them out this morning, she was only barely still there. She literally died in my arms – or rather, in the crook of my left arm – as I carried her back to the house for the day.
Now I have a dead chicken sitting in a dog crate outside my front door (because dead chickens do not smell very nice). And no idea what to do with the body. It’s not very good weather for digging deep holes, and digging a hole is a lot harder than you might think.
This is not really what I had originally planned for my Friday.
Little baby Ethel, just home from the feed store.
[Update: I phoned the vet's office and they very kindly said they would take her body for cremation for free. Although I had been rolling the idea of holding a seaside Viking funeral, the vet's office is a much more practical option.]