With a mix of sadness and relief, I can announce that the last of my flock has died. Poor old Vera was clearly ailing in the last few days. The chicken run is now empty of life; just an empty nesting box and empty henhouse (except, perhaps, for Felix) and a chicken wire fence keeping nothing in.

The last photo I have of Vera is the one above when, on a miserable, grey, drizzly day, she sheltered in the henhouse with her good friend, Felix, keeping her company. She stayed there all day and made no effort to go to her usual bed when it grew dark, so I let her be, knowing she had clean dry hay to lie on. The next day (Monday) she shuffled into the far corner, so I knew she wouldn’t welcome any of my ministrations, nor was she interested in the food or water nearby. This morning it was clear that she had died.

She is buried under the karo tree where she spent a lot of time in the sun or just hunkered down in what I called ‘the chicken lounge’.

The chicken poop scoop, bucket and brush have been retired. The bags of peck-and-lay and meal worms, the neem oil for her feet, the bags of straw and sawdust, are no longer needed. There are no plans to re-stock.

The chicken run is now haunted by the clucky spirits of Betty I and Betty II, Dora (the explorer), Popcorn, Mabel and Vera.