what's in a name?

                            A beautiful hawk flew into the yard yesterday for a snack. 

                                We watched her eating a mouse on a log. 

Later that night we found a chicken down, dead in the snow.  It was Darwin the way too late in the season lone chicken with a careless mother. 

                    Darwin, being the smallest bird was selected for- for dinner for the hawk.  

        I don't know much about how life works but I do know you never name a chicken.

 And I know life on a farm has a lot of tears when something beautiful turns deadly.  I tried to tell Beach that perhaps the hawk has young of its own to feed.  She didn't care, like her mother she loves the underdogs of life.  Rest in pieces, Darwin.