In the cool of the morning, I scatter scratch feed and carry in chick feed for the inhabitants of our
poultry pen.
Shaggy the rooster, Miss Dahlia, the mama with her one spoiled chick, Sara’s two black hens, Lyle and...
where’s Larry? I circle the coop and find Larry’s corpse fallen behind it, as if off a perch on the plastic
play fence which divides sections.
So much for the peaceable kingdom. Death has entered the garden yet again.