Not long after the last video was filmed and the usefulness of these little birds was sealed in my heart (ok, not my heart, but my brain finally understood it), we lost four of them. Phooey, that Murphy’s Law.
Someone had gathered eggs and left the chicken coop door open one night- in the morning there could only be three chickens found. Three. And the pretty rooster was gone, too.
It happens out here in the wild. Life. Death. We don't name many things here. (And when we discuss our “farm” to new people, we mention that we inadvertently feed a lot of the wildlife.)
So when one of the last three chickens went missing the day my mom arrived for her visit a few weeks ago, I sighed heavily, wondering if I would need to start buying store bought eggs to make "ends meet".
Mom spent a week here, and then flew home. A few days after that, I took the boys out with me to do the morning chores. We don't normally linger over the water shut-off, but this morning I had to reconnect the hose to the faucet so I could fill up the cows’ water trough.
"The chickens in there," Ryan said conversationally.
"Mmm Hmm? What chicken? In where? The coop?"
"No, the chicken is in the watering 'hingie."(the word "thingie" used aptly to any object where a proper name alludes him at the moment -I have started picking up this practice, too.)
I listened for a moment, and I heard an echoing chortle. A chicken cluck-cluck-cluck. It did, indeed, sound as if it was coming from within the well pit. But how in the world...?
With David in one arm, poised on hip, I lifted the heavy lid. Sure enough, perched high on an awkward plank teetering ten feet over the gravel pit below, sat our missing third hen, looking no worse for the wear. Ten days in solitary confinement. At the first peek of light, although obstructed by three heads peeking in at her, she mustered all of her chicken-guts and flew right over Ryan's head. We all shrieked and jumped and the hen waddled as quickly as she could back to the coop.
"WOW! DID YOU SEE THAT RYAN?" I said, breathless, laughing. I could NOT believe that chicken had lived in a damp, dark, scary hole for over a week. Plus! I was back up to three hens.
Ryan, however, was nonplussed. "Well, Sadie chased her in there." As if he was discussing some mundane issue like "It's kind of sunny today." This made perfect sense to him, apparently.
Upon inspection, I found a small hole where she must have squeezed under the roof of the well cover to flee our chicken-loving canine. Needless to say, I am going to have to start listening to my boy a bit more closely.
And as I mentioned before, we don't usually name animals on this farm, for the obvious problem with retention rates, but since this chicken seems to have multiple lives, I think it's safe to give her a name. But creativity alludes me- any suggestions?
Someone had gathered eggs and left the chicken coop door open one night- in the morning there could only be three chickens found. Three. And the pretty rooster was gone, too.
It happens out here in the wild. Life. Death. We don't name many things here. (And when we discuss our “farm” to new people, we mention that we inadvertently feed a lot of the wildlife.)
So when one of the last three chickens went missing the day my mom arrived for her visit a few weeks ago, I sighed heavily, wondering if I would need to start buying store bought eggs to make "ends meet".
Mom spent a week here, and then flew home. A few days after that, I took the boys out with me to do the morning chores. We don't normally linger over the water shut-off, but this morning I had to reconnect the hose to the faucet so I could fill up the cows’ water trough.
"The chickens in there," Ryan said conversationally.
"Mmm Hmm? What chicken? In where? The coop?"
"No, the chicken is in the watering 'hingie."(the word "thingie" used aptly to any object where a proper name alludes him at the moment -I have started picking up this practice, too.)
I listened for a moment, and I heard an echoing chortle. A chicken cluck-cluck-cluck. It did, indeed, sound as if it was coming from within the well pit. But how in the world...?
With David in one arm, poised on hip, I lifted the heavy lid. Sure enough, perched high on an awkward plank teetering ten feet over the gravel pit below, sat our missing third hen, looking no worse for the wear. Ten days in solitary confinement. At the first peek of light, although obstructed by three heads peeking in at her, she mustered all of her chicken-guts and flew right over Ryan's head. We all shrieked and jumped and the hen waddled as quickly as she could back to the coop.
"WOW! DID YOU SEE THAT RYAN?" I said, breathless, laughing. I could NOT believe that chicken had lived in a damp, dark, scary hole for over a week. Plus! I was back up to three hens.
Ryan, however, was nonplussed. "Well, Sadie chased her in there." As if he was discussing some mundane issue like "It's kind of sunny today." This made perfect sense to him, apparently.
Upon inspection, I found a small hole where she must have squeezed under the roof of the well cover to flee our chicken-loving canine. Needless to say, I am going to have to start listening to my boy a bit more closely.
And as I mentioned before, we don't usually name animals on this farm, for the obvious problem with retention rates, but since this chicken seems to have multiple lives, I think it's safe to give her a name. But creativity alludes me- any suggestions?
P.S. She's the black and white one on the left in the picture above.
P.P.S. Honestly, I don't really know which black and white one she is. Who can tell those two apart? Not I. Not that I couldn't if I tried...it's just that I don't spend THAT much time watching those ladies. 
P.P.P.S. It is raining, raining, raining today and so I, one who loves warmth, refuse to go out and take a new picture of the afore mentioned well-pit. However, in the interest of visual aid to the story, the well-pit where the chicken lived is shown in the top picture on this page, behind ol' Roostie (rip). The roof covers a hole about ten feet deep and four feet wide, and houses our pressure tank and numerous connections for well water on our property.
3 comments:
She is quite the survivor! How about Madame Poof or Miss Magic?
Maybe I didn't read the blog carefully enough, but...what is Ryan showing us so proudly? Is that a s.n.a.k.e.??? Just wondering...
Love you all so much!
No, it's a worm that Ryan found. Yuck, right? I like Miss Magic...Turns out 17 survived today's masacre...so...more on that in a bit.
Haha! She could also be called "Houdie" (as in, short for Houdini, not unlike Hooty and the Blowfish). But I like your mom's suggestion of Miss Magic, too. Either way, let's hope she doesn't try to turn too many more tricks for you!
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