Ashlee, we woke up this morning to find you had left us. Always the first to come running when you saw us in the yard, always forgiving as our kids endlessly carried you around the yard like you were a doll, beautiful with your white and gray and buff–you will be missed. You gave us hundreds of beautiful, big, sage green eggs. You survived a raccoon attack a few summers ago, with only a small scratch to show for it. You survived bullying and exclusion by a younger batch of hens, after your sister Jessica had passed–but you were savvy. You stayed on the outskirts of the flock for a few months, biding your time, watching and learning, until you charmed your way into their good graces. You eventually worked your way back up to the number two spot in the pecking order.
I am sorry for the way that you passed. Two days ago, I noticed you were a bit slow to leave the coop. Yesterday, you seemed tired. You croaked at me for attention, and I knew something was wrong, but I was too busybusybusy to deal with it right then. If I’d taken a few minutes with you, could I have figured what was troubling you and treated you in time to save you? If not, at the very least, I might have been proud for the way I cared for you, my friend. You gave us so much, and asked for so little. And in the end, when you needed me, I feel that I abandoned you. You deserved better. And you will be missed.
