Farewell Crockpot, I will miss your cocky attitude. Your proud strut, your determined covert operations into the vegetable garden. You silly chicken.
Your demise was not the crockpot I have been threatening you with all summer, but under the cover of dark, the coyote attack from two evenings ago.I found feathers outside the coop the next morning. I looked around all day, hoping to spot you somewhere on the farm, scratching around with your girls in the old pig pen, or perhaps, venturing into the veggie garden where we tilled over last week and sowed field peas. But alas, no... I did not see you.
So those white feathers, blowing in the wind, cathing in the fence, so soft, so pure, must be yours...
Your free spirit will always be remembered.
We don't trypically name our chickens, but once in a while one stands out and will carry a name. Rocket, our fist rooster, Sam the Man, a beautiful proud Astralorp, and now you, Crockpot.