We figured out that the Gray Hen, our most beautiful and dignified hen, was suffering from BumbleFoot, a painful infectious disease that chickens can get when a would or scratch becomes infected. I’d heard of it but didn’t think of it, Maria saw the hen’s feet were turning in, and she couldn’t walk or hop into or out of the roost.

There are some surgeries for Bumblefoot, but we didn’t want to go down that path, not for a chicken. We could see that she was in pain, and we realize now that the infection had probably been spreading for weeks, even months.

Maria carried her out of the roost and put her in the barn on a haystack. She lay down. I shot her four times with a .22 rifle, twice in the head, twice in the heart. I guess I’ve become good at this, she was dead instantly.

Maria carried her out into the woods and returned her to nature, to the coyotes, as is our custom.

This is a kind of ritual on a farm, chickens are not pets, and I am grateful we can end  her suffering, something we can’t do for one another or for our mothers and fathers. I don’t have deep feelings for chickens, but I was fond of the Gray Hen, there was something regal and very industrious about her.

She lay an egg just yesterday.

We have no plans to get another hen right now. We have two chickens left.