Coco was one of my quasi-rescue hens. She came from a big barn, her beak had been shockingly clipped, and she was destined for a commercial life. She came, instead, to a little suburbian backyard with her pal Mimi. Mimi died a couple of years ago, but Coco stayed on to rule the roost.
She died last night of old age. The last few days she’d been very still, quiet and sleepy. Fifi, my oldest, cosied up with her.
And then she slipped away in her sleep. It was all so very peaceful.