Chicken Woes

This afternoon I went to check on the chickens and noticed that our boss chicken looked quite......dead. I didn't really expect that and stared at her for a few seconds before determining that in fact, yes, she was dead. I am not really sure what happened. She looked fine this morning, but it was clear when I picked her up that she had checked out a few hours ago. There are no markings on her, and no unusual signs, so I assume she died of natural chicken causes, whatever that means. James was out with me, and I told him that Pippy died. He was sad, then said matter of factly 'well, it happens.' That's my boy. I made Katie stay inside because she was the one I thought would have a hard time with it. Instead, it was Tyler. He is upset that Pippy is dead and wants to get 'another Pippy.' He didn't want me to throw her in the trash can. Which, by the way...what is the etiquette regarding that? I don't exactly have room to bury them on ye olde homestead, so I have determined that in the trash they go. I did bag her up so that hopefully the trash men don't get a start when they see a big, fat dead chicken flying into the trash truck. I suppose they see lots of things, but it always makes me wonder...you know, for all the bodies I have to dispose of. Because just a few months ago, I had to shovel a huge possum off the road and throw it away. Nothing like a hairy snout-nosed beast in the clutches of rigor mortis to ruin your outlook on life. (P.S. Did you know rigor mortis is two words? Who knew!) But I digress. The end of the story is when I realized Tyler was MIA and found him outside trying to open the trash bag and retrieve Pippy. Poor guy. Even though Pippy weighed a ton, he loved to carry her around. Now I guess I will have to keep the trash cans under lock down until trash day, not only to keep animals out...but to prevent Tyler from trying to resurrect poor Pippy.