September has been a bastard of a month.
Aside from considerations of bills, middle-aged aches and caterpillars destroying the lettuces, the second-last of our original chooks, Marion, got sick. We thought she was just broody.
She was looking bloated and hormonal and refusing to get off the nesting basket.
So we picked her up and took her outside, made sure she got water, the usual things you do for a chook you do not want to be broody.
But last Sunday, the Practical Reinventor was outside gardening and noticed two other chooks and the kelpie sitting with her.
Just sitting with her.
The sun started to set and the other chooks headed back into the pen. Marion did not.
We took her in and settled her on the roost.
Not 10 minutes later there was a desperate flapping, and then silence.
She died.
Just like that.
She's buried with Joan and Joyce under the mulberry tree.
