This week, walking the dogs at night, I found the gray hen lying in a puddle of ice and mud under the roost. She can no longer jump into the protected roost, we lifted her up and carried her inside, where she has been ever since. She doesn’t seem able to get in or out, and we noticed her claws are turned inward, which explains why she can’t jump, and perhaps even walk.

For me, this would be the time to end her suffering, I do this by shooting her quickly in the heart and head with my .22, to me, it is the most humane way for her to die, and the quickest. I know how to use the gun efficiently in this way.

We could also wring her neck or chop off her head, the two other quick ways for a chicken to die. Maria doesn’t feel it’s quite time, and since she cares so lovingly for the hens, I leave this final decision to her.

I can’t really say when a chicken is feeling, like sheep, they are pretty simple creatures. But I can’t imagine she is very comfortable, she hasn’t moved in several days.

We both share the belief that animals ought not suffer for the emotional needs of humans. Chickens are on the borderline for us, somewhere between a pet and an animal. If she is still alive when we get back from Massachusetts this weekend, I think Maria will also be ready for her to go.

Chickens are ruthless with other chickens when they get sick, they peck their eyes out and peck them to death. I don’t want to wait that long. The gray hen has always been industrious and dignified, but I can’t say I feel the things for a chicken that I did for Simon or for a dog.

One thing is certain, her time is just about up.