I’m seventeen years old, hiding in my room because my hen died. She was a seven year old hen who laid eggs every year of her life. She just passed away last night, of natural causes. I’m absolutely crushed by the thought that I’ll never see her pretty little black and white feathered wings again. This is not a joke. When I saw that my family had cooked her in the oven, I ran up stairs to my room and started crying pitifully. I know that everytime a persons comes to my house and looks at my hens, they always say “, I know what I want for dinner.” but I raised my Ashley from day one, when she was just a little chick. I held her little fuzzy body in my hands, and watched her fall asleep in my warmth. I can’t eat her. She’s my baby. That’s all I can think of when I think of her. My baby. My sweetheart.