Our most proper Henrietta has died. She who once ruled the roost became sick last summer with an infection that would not heal despite the medical attentions of the vet, of Dona, our resident chicken expert, and of my father, a retired pediatrician. She spent her last weeks in the glass house (above) where she reveled in the warmth, ate lots of mealworms and tomatoes, and really seemed to get better. Then she got worse.