We lost "C" last week. She didn't come home to roost like she always does, so we knew something bad had happened. I looked all around the yard, but she was nowhere to be found. When the doorbell rang, it was Diane Davis from the Christmas tree farm next door, standing there holding a small wreath. "I'm afraid I have some bad news for you," she said. Then she explained how some kids had found Chicken C in the Christmas tree farm; violently mutilated by some animal; probably a raccoon. She was so big that the kids thought she was a turkey. Diane had one of her guys bury her. She expressed her condolences, because her family had grown accustomed to having our chickens hang out on their property over the years. She said they called them "The Spice Girls!" It was nice of Diane to come over and give us the news, and the beautiful wreath. It's really hard to accept that she was attacked and killed in a violent way. Chicken "C" was about 7 years old. She was number 3 in the pecking order; hence her name "C." She was large, and black with long shiny golden feathers on her head and around her neck. We will miss her. We are down to one chicken now; Chicken A, our big-old kick ass Red Hen. She's the boss of only herself now. Weʻll have to get her some company come Spring.
2 comments:
I'm proud of you, Mom-Hen. We'll get some new girls next year. These chickens lived the high-life, as far as chicken lives go. But they'd be bored as heck without you to talk to them!
I'm glad you started a blog! I'll have to link to you from mine now.
Aw, poor henny. Amelia's right. Your chickens do live pampered lives. It's to bad she met with such a violent end.
Welcome to the blogging world!
Hey, Amelia!
Post a Comment