Poor Garden Chicken is falling apart. I love this little tin chicken. It has stood on various garden fences and among my plants for twelve years. A dear friend gave it to me when we moved to this house; originally it had a metal stick, like a piece of wire coat hanger, coming out of its belly so that it could be poked into the ground at whatever height made it seem to be pecking things out of the plants. Then a few years ago the stick fell out and I started tying chicken to the pieces of old fencing that I use as trellises. When I cleaned out the square foot garden yesterday to plant snow peas I noticed that chicken no longer has two legs. Luckily the fallen leg was still in the garden, and I brought both chicken and leg into the house. Close inspection showed me that chicken's paint is curling off in places, and I don't have the skills to solder that leg back on.
I don't know why I'm so attached to this piece of tin and rust and paint, but I think its next home is going to be on a wall inside, maybe in the dining room next to some other primitive pieces.