Every other year, we get a new batch of chicks in August and graduate the older hens from egg to soup duty in November. We turn the upper portion of the Poule House into a brooder, while it is still summery-hot, and put the senior hens on the first floor, blocking any connection between them. As we hope to get the chicks this week, Rob divided the duplex this weekend.
Last night he went out to lock the hens in for the night, but... he could only find three of them. In his search, he noticed that the separation-board had been moved just a bit. So, Rob opened up the upper coop, and there, in the nesting box, was an egg and a dead Henya. Poor thing! She needed to lay her egg in her usual nesting box and broke her neck to do it.
What do I do with that special egg? I feel like I need to turn it into something fabulously French to honor her sacrificial duty. Ah, maybe a tomatillo tarte. Yes, that is just the thing.
To Henya!
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