One More Down

Well, the little black one that had been shunned finally met her end. She wouldn't stop her seizures, and when she would flail about, she would peep so loud that she would keep Barry awake. You can imagine what happened when I wasn't there to nurse the little tormented chick...when I got home, the warm hen box was quite quiet. I asked Barry if my sick little barred rock died and he said it was so. I accused him of doing the deed, to which he quickly confessed. I was imagining that a bit of creative history could've made me feel like my chick had just succumbed to natural causes, but Barry is not one to speak in euphemism. We are down to 6.