One mild evening some days ago, I waited patiently for the last little hen to go to roost at twilight. Once in her nest, I could easily catch her. She was going to a better home with my neighbors who maintain a small flock. I knew she would much rather be at the bottom of the pecking order in a flock than to continue her solitary and very lonely existence here.
It marks the end of an era that I will always fondly recall as The Chicken Years. It was so much fun building the coop and the pen, raising chickens, getting to know the true nature of the amazing little birds, the descendants of dinosaurs! However, it was one long tragedy of death and loss. Too many roosters. Mean roosters. Unexplained death and predation. Loss of my favorite characters to sad and premature death. Jake the Bad Dog. Snakes. Pack rats. It was just too much.
I was moping around - just a tiny bit - whenever I would realize the chicken pen was empty for good but I hoped the little hen was settling into her new home. She had never been given a proper name, (I think she was Medium girl), so when my neighbors said their grandchildren would have fun naming her, that made me happy.
A neighborly phone call this week delighted me. As it turns out, Babe as she is now known, is the favorite hen of the one and only Mr. Blackie, the chief rooster! My neighbors' dog is of the Good Dog Duke lineage, so their chickens enjoy freedom during the day to scratch in the dirt and leaves, to take dirt baths and to tend to their normal chicken business. That is the very best news.
It is a very happy and appropriate note on which to end The Chicken Years.
I was moping around - just a tiny bit - whenever I would realize the chicken pen was empty for good but I hoped the little hen was settling into her new home. She had never been given a proper name, (I think she was Medium girl), so when my neighbors said their grandchildren would have fun naming her, that made me happy.
A neighborly phone call this week delighted me. As it turns out, Babe as she is now known, is the favorite hen of the one and only Mr. Blackie, the chief rooster! My neighbors' dog is of the Good Dog Duke lineage, so their chickens enjoy freedom during the day to scratch in the dirt and leaves, to take dirt baths and to tend to their normal chicken business. That is the very best news.
It is a very happy and appropriate note on which to end The Chicken Years.
4 comments:
Hello, great story! Is this the last one of the Dutch group, which had problems to adjust to the American way of living? Tot ziens, Job
I am so happy! I too miss having The Girls, so I know some of what you're feeling. I never lost anyone to tragedy, and managed to give away all of my girls when they reached the end of their prime laying days with me. My Babe was a bantam cochin frizzle, completely adorable in my eyes, but too small and odd-looking for the likes of the big girls, so the butt of severe pecking. I gave her away to a woman who had a whole flock of bantams, and other frizzles. Long live the Babes of the world, and let's look forward to having another fine flock in our next lives!
It is likely, Kathy, that in my next life, I may reincarnate as a chicken.... sad, really! But yes, here's to all the Babes of this world and the women who love them! ha
Job - yes, this was the last of the three little Dutch Bantams hens. I hated to see her go, but she is now queen of her own chicken yard and the chief wife of the head rooster!
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