Too Much Death for Springtime

The Mighty Rambo is gone.

Tuesday morning, after a week of his being beaten by Curley the Rumpless, we found our Rammy dead under the roost in the Big Chickenhouse. Husband left to get dressed for work, and I picked up our golden boy, to find that he was still warm to the touch, and had just died. I realized none of the other birds had pooped on him, and that he had just fallen off his roost and into the dirt of the chickenhouse litter. I cried bitter tears then, cradling our big boy in my arms like a baby, and wishing I could have seen him alive one more time. Spring is supposed to be a time of life, and it just doesn't seem fair that we have lost Lacey, Isis, and now Rammy.

That night after work, I dug a place for him at the edge of the pond, where he loved to lead his big girl harem looking for bugs and worms. I dug it as deeply as I could, and laid him in a pillowcase in the bottom, making sure I dumped enough dirt back on him that no animal could find him and dig him up. There he will stay, near where I will be seating on my Mother's Day bench and watching the frogs,and where I can talk to him about things going on at the farm.

Rest in Peace, our dear boy!