Died suddenly

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As a rule, I don’t give pallets much thought. But in the comments section of my last post, I found myself in not one, but two conversations about their many and varied uses.

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^{compost pit}

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^{chicken shelter}

Was the universe trying to tell me something? I shall relate my tale of woe, dear reader, and you can be the judge.

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Let me first declare that we are a multi-pallet household. There must be fifty of them scattered about the place. Some arrived with the solar panels, others with our flat-pack dome, and the rest? Who knows. One does not buy pallets. Rather, as one of my commenters remarked, one liberates them or they simply appear.

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^{compost pit 2}

Today was gusty. My brother, who has an uncanny knack for doing the right thing at precisely the wrong time, decided it was the perfect moment to haul one of our many pallets down the garden to reinforce the chicken defences.

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^{chicken perch}

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^{God knows what}

I watched from the kitchen window as he hoisted it onto the wheelbarrow, where it teetered ominously while he trundled it toward the anti-chicken wall, trailed by 18 inquisitive hens.

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^{Nesting boxes and chicken coop inner door}

Then, without warning, a sharp gust caught the pallet. It lifted into the air, hovered for a moment like something out of Poltergeist, and then crashed back to earth, landing squarely on one of the chickens, killing her instantly.

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