Goodbye dear Stella! You were a beautiful bird, and I love you. I thought you were tired of living in your little pen, so you spent the night outside, where you love it, but you slept too close to the fence, and some rascal tried to pull you through by your head. I'm so sorry that I didn't attend to Cannonball's strange crowing this morning when I got home from work, but you were probably already gone. He misses you, too, by the way. I tried to console him as he was wandering alone on the patio this afternoon, but I think he's rather be by himself; maybe he blames me? I know he's not a warrier, but it must have been horrible for him to watch you be so cruelly attacked; there's nothing he could have done if he wanted to.
You were an inspiration to all who met you: my neices who played with you in their toy kitchen, the lady at the oil change place who fed you nuts off of her sundae, and the visitors in your yard. Everyone was amazed at how you "kept on trucking" without any toes, and raised a clutch of babies at that! Your children are beautiful, and I will love them forever. I was going to bring you to a show next month and play a joke on Edgar, dropping you onto the table and telling him, "she doesn't have a number, I can't keep bands on her for some reason!" You would have been a hit! Now, though, you are buried as I want to be; naked in the garden, to nourish beautiful flowers for the rest of time. I'm going to find a really nice fern to plant over you. You are whole now, frolicking as birdies should on the other side of the rainbow bridge, where the grass is lush, the dust feels good, and the ants line up for your enjoyment. Goodbye, dear princess, I love you.
Especially since they aren't a single color. The pullet might be a Wheaton color, but the roo will keep changing, according to my experience.
