Here lies Stella.
She got eaten by something. Kelly found her, and it was gruesome. We buried her in a hole and covered her with rocks.
She was a good chicken. A brave chicken. We named her after a Grateful Dead song.
Stella had a happy life. She was by far the best looking of the chickens, and I think she knew it. On many mornings she stood on the coop roof and crowed.
That habit was really kind of obnoxious, but funny once we got used to it.
She got lost once, after a hawk attacked Peggy-O and Bertha. We put up fliers in the neighborhood because we thought she ran away.
But actually she was living in our shed. She was really pretty smart, for a chicken.
R.I.P. Stella (July 2006–13 October 2008)