The worst end to a fab weekend

Angie just died. Literally. In the last hour or so. She was crop-bound before we went away for the weekend (when food gets stuck in the crop, often from eating long grass or similar), but we'd massaged her crop and got some olive oil down her and she'd started pecking about again and eating her food. She wasn't laying, but she was drinking like normal, which was a good sign. And then this afternoon she pooed a big mass of compacted straw, but she seemed fine, rootling around, having a dust bath and generally being chicken-y. Then she went in the nest box a bit early this evening and when Adam went out to check on them half an hour ago she was dead. Just like that.

And Lola - typical Lola - was standing on Angie's head.

Now I feel like crap. I feel incredibly guilty. Especially after Ruby. I thought Rubes would be our one bad luck hen and from here on in it'd be plain sailing. Adam says we haven't done anything wrong, but I feel awful. I guess Lola's good health and constant egg-laying counts for something. And we did say that they were outdoor creatures, just here for their eggs. But it's hard not to get a little attached.

How come no ones else seems to have bad luck with their chickens? On other blogs I read they're always laughing at the chickens' antics and counting their many, many eggs.

But now? Jeez, I don't know. Do we get another one? I think we have to. We can't have Lola on her own, they're sociable creatures. Or maybe we should call a halt to the whole chicken thing, and take Lola back to the chicken farm.