We had our first casualty on our farm today. Our favorite chicken, Henrietta, choked and died today. The boys are making her a tombstone now.
The four boys' different responses to the chicken's death:
Enoch (the chicken farmer): "I did everything I knew to do to save her. She was my favorite. I hope we don't lose the rest this way. I can't afford that."
Ezra (announcing the status every minute or so before she died): "She's still with us."
"Enoch's doing CPR." "She's not gonna make it." "The chicken's gone. She's not with us any more." "Can I paint a tombstone for her?" "Can we have a funeral for her next Tuesday?"
Ezekiel: "Do we get to eat the chicken now?"
EdWord: "Can we make a feather duster with her feathers?"
