Carlene died.
I have to be careful of the company I'm in when I say that out loud. When I made the announcement the other morning, there was a pause of shock.
Same thing happened a few months ago when I said "Oprah's dead" in the barn, as we were all getting stalls ready. It was almost a Princess Diana moment.
And then - "Oh! The chicken?" Relief. 
That's Carlene on the right by the cats.
It just so happened my daughter and mother, who know the namesake of Carlene the hen, thought I was talking about a lovely woman from my old hometown of Canton, CT. As far as I know, Carlene, the human, is in good health. I guess I will have to call her now.
It just so happened my daughter and mother, who know the namesake of Carlene the hen, thought I was talking about a lovely woman from my old hometown of Canton, CT. As far as I know, Carlene, the human, is in good health. I guess I will have to call her now.
Strangely, a tradition of naming hens after friends, or by friends, got started with Norma Jean six years ago and the tradition continued - by request. So when I got the day old Ameraucana or Araucana (some sort of Easter egg breed) in the mail, Carlene put in a request for a hen in her name. Truffles, her sibling, was named after a favorite eatery, and if course, the confection that was somewhat her color.
Well, today we had blueberry pancakes with Carlene's last egg and our fresh picked blueberries. Thanks Carlene! You made a lot of kids, and big kids, happy with your beautiful eggs.
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