My sister shared the sad news with me this morning. Apparently she was eggbound. (The chicken, not my sister.) My sister even tried massage, to help the chicken pass the egg, but to no avail.
And no, Alex is not getting out his knife and fork in gleeful anticipation.
I haven't told him. Hopefully there will be a replacement soon, and the kids won't have to know. Alex especially. He takes this sort of thing to heart, and I don't see the need to inflict unnecessary sorrow on the boy. If it was OUR chicken, maybe. But she wasn't.
And also, no, she will not become a meal. She will be buried.
I haven't told Bill yet, either.
I don't want him going to my sister's with a shovel and a portable grill.