I suppose it was inevitable that there would be a weakling within the brood of ten chicks.
Moon died and the children really, really cried. We were staying at my parents when hubby called to tell us the news. We hurried back for the funeral.
The 6yo held the tiny white body in his hand, rigor had set in. Moon had been one of Boy's chicks apparently....
'Why is he twisty like that?' he asked
'It's just the way he lay when he died.' I replied.
A tear-streaked boy looked at me sternly.
'Are you sure you didn't twist his neck like the others.'
Considering I was with my children on the south coast, a hundred and fifty miles from the crime scene, I thought this was turning into a bit of a fit-up. Clearly I'm getting a reputation.
The 8yo constructed a simple wooden cross with two sticks, (an entire roll of Sellotape holding them together) and we said goodbye to little Moon.
Oh, how sad... I cry too whenever I lose a flock member, to date this year I've lost 9 - that's a lot of crying... Your sproglets are so precious, Lou!
ReplyDeleteMr Roving Blade's dad has this reputation too. It's an underground zoo up at theirs - dogs, guinnea pigs, chickens, fish, someone's cat - and even a horse. Mr R B's mum says she daren't sit still for very long.
ReplyDeleteBy bye little Moon.