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Sometime last night one of the hens wedged herself head first into an iron decorative posts of the chicken coop and died there between chicken wire meant to keep her safe on the ground and the canopy supports meant to keep her safe from the sky.  I could try to understand why or how or what reason she might have had to go in head first or fail to simply back out but she is chicken, reason has nothing to do with it. She had so many other choices, other ways out other than death.  Panic makes animals do strange & stupid things.  Her friends ignored her cries for help.  Her higher beings deaf to her struggle.

As it turns out I am somewhat of a chicken too.  Knowing what her body would feel like snapping in my hand if I tried to free her lifeless carcass, remembering the way flesh, hers hen pecked, would pretend to give under pressure. You can be offended I would even think to show this but one should know that farming isn't a game, that Real Life lives and dies in the pastures and the gardens. Where ever it is, life is a war, battles are won and lost with causalities and consequences. I know this first hand.
BC would never want me to have to do this chore of death but he isn't here to protect me.  To swagger into the kitchen for coffee and tell me the story of the silly dead hen.  My morbid sense of humor is in tact but my nerves are questionable, my soul still bleeding  I  have touched and been touched by too many dead bodies to want to linger with them anymore.
I am afraid she is going to have to stay there until rigger releases her by then the Donners surely will have had their fill.
But I'm more afraid I can't leave her there like even against what I know it will do to me.  I suppose gloves might offer me some protection....

Now rest in peace little chicken.