Peace, God and Watery Poops
Sleepy Cloud, 4/22/10-11/13/10


We buried the first of our beloved egg-laying chickens today. Sleepy Cloud, as we called her, passed away in my arms this morning. I loved Sleepy Cloud, who loved to nap in the sun or on our laps when we first brought her and five other baby hens home six months ago.
Cause of death: unknown.
I bawled. Miles asked if we could "stick a sword in its neck."
I declined his request.
Think of something to say when we bury her, I suggested. He agreed.
An hour later, when the last of the dirt was patted down, I said something like I hope you go where you want to go, either with human spirits or animal spirits like Chipper and Misty, or maybe just with the moon or the wind or the sky.
Miles stood up straighter and said,
"I hope you have a good time in God, Sleepy Cloud. Thanks for being in our life. Thanks for the eggs, the small and the double-yolk ones. And it was funny when you made watery poop yesterday in the basement!"
It was funny yesterday, when we brought her in the house to give her more individualized, tender care. It was smilingly-tearfully funny remembering it today.
We trooped back to the coop. Miles took me aside and whispered, "I went back to the dirt pile and said, 'Peace, God.' "
My son, the devout, Santa-loving Atheist, referred to God twice in ten minutes.

Video of the clouds when they were days old: