In which Twelve is gone, but the stories about her will live forever
I am sorry to report the recent demise of Chicken Twelve and
some of our other feathered friends.
While most of us were away at camp, a varmint invaded the chicken pen in the orchard and made off with many of our valued hen friends. Monica was able to save only three chickens, none of them, alas, were the beloved Silver Wyandottes.
We assume that Twelve, tough old bird that she was, put up a good fight.
Monica painted a portrait of Twelve stretching towards blueberries, but she felt that the usual background of grass and leaves would be inadequate to express the complexity of Twelve's life. She asked me to tell "Twelve Stories about Twelve", and incorporated them all into the portrait as only an artist who understands the deep nature of a transcendent hen could do.
So long, Twelve, and thanks for all the ... stories. You were a good chicken.