We were first-time backyard chicken owners with six Rhode Island Reds. One afternoon I noticed one of our hens, Bertha, was not acting right. I tried to feed her and see if I could help, but I decided the best thing to do was to pick her up and leave her in the shade in a secure place. When it was time to lock the girls up I noticed Bertha was missing. We did a search, but could not find her. The next morning still no Bertha. My six-year-old son and I eventually found her in a row of hedges.
Unfortunately, Bertha had passed away sometime between the last time I had seen her and the morning. She showed no signs of injury or harm, so I determined she must have been sick and died of natural causes. My son and my three daughters were upset at the loss of our pet, and decided that a proper burial was in order. We dug the grave, said a few words, and said good-bye to Bertha. When my neighbors would stop by and do a quick count, they quickly asked what happed to the sixth hen. My daughter Laurette would always tell them that Bertha went to Kevin. After many puzzled looks I had to point to our make shift grave and explain, “Bertha went to Kevin.”
Contributor Bio: Bryan and his family live in Remsenburg on the east end of Long Island, NY.
What kind of Chicken person am I: I have a couple chickens
This post was submitted by Bryan Schaumloffel.