If I had and sense then I should have snapped her neck then and there.  For a while now we have had six chickens and a maximum of only five eggs a day.  As the time to lay an egg is only twenty five hours for these chickens, we should have had six eggs at some stage.  Combined with the fact that we knew one of the chickens had been eating the eggs, this means that one of them is back to her old tricks.  It was only a week ago that I actually caught her in the act of eating her egg and I am kicking myself that I did not dispatch her then and there.  Now I have to go to the hassle of isolating her to ensure that I don’t kill the wrong chicken.  I can’t just lift her and end her now as they all look the same to me.  At this point I feel compelled to mention that some of my best friends are chickens, even though this is untrue.


I suspect she is the chicken that always hangs back from the rest.  She is the one that spends more time in the shed than outside in the run.  She is the chicken that will not rest on her perch with the others, instead she sits on the floor even after I have put her on the perch.


This evening, as the light faded through the gusts and rain, I repaired the old coop.  It now stands ready to take the prisoner.  Once I recogniser her by her ‘jizz’, a term used by birdwatchers to describe the overall impression or appearance of a bird garnered from such features as shape, posture, flying style or other habitual movements.  Then I will isolate her in this prison and wait for the proof.  If she produces no eggs, by eating them, then death will swiftly follow.  There is no point to feeding it when does not produce.  They are not pets.  We do not cuddle them or call them by any kind of name.  This said, other than fish or insects, I do not think I have ever killed a thing.  I know I will not enjoy the moment at all.  However, this morning I collected the eggs and found some dried yolk on the outside of one.  It was more evidence and refueled my desire to end it for one poor misguided chicken.