The Grey Hen declines slowly. She has lost any wariness, she doesn’t sleep in her protected roosts, she doesn’t get out of the way, she clings to Minnie and spends almost all of her time on the back porch. We can’t find her sleeping spot. I think it’s getting close to the time where we guide her quickly out of this world, Maria says she’s not ready to go. T

he way Maria and I work on these kinds of things, each of us can veto a decision about the death of an animal. No argument. If one of us says no, it’s no. Both of us have to keep at it until we feel comfortable.

I hope nature takes it’s course and the Gray Hen dies peacefully and naturally. She is eating enough to survive, but she wanders aimlessly, and never with the other hens. When a sheep does that, you know they are about ready to die. Truthfully, I’d rather shoot her quickly (I’ve done this many times before) then see her get run over, she was too close to the road today, wandering in circles, or picked off by a hawk or coyote or fox or raccoon.

Maria thinks she might recover, so we will give that a chance.