A Death in the Family

Alas. Poor little Adelle, our only pullet, has died. She stopped thriving some days ago, and never manifested any particular symptoms other than a tendency to be less active than the others. She continued to eat, drink and eliminate.

Thursday, however, she ate and drank a lot less than her usual and was particularly poorly, and I knew she was going to die. I held her, and she died in my hands. I don't believe I've ever seen life leave the eyes before, but I could mark the moment when the glitter left, and a film seemed to draw over them.

One pictures, I think, little shiny black eyes upon a field of downy pale; however the eyes of the Faverolles are a clear, bright bay with a great deal of depth. Because I had hatched her, I was her mother. She had imprinted on me, and her eyes were trained on mine to the last moments. It is foolish to think such creatures don't take comfort where they can.

Her gaze was focused and deep, and then it was dispersed and flat. It happened in a moment and she was gone.

We buried her Sunday evening beneath the apple boughs.