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A flock of three

Checked the chickens on this miserable drizzly December night and found Maggie dead in her nest box.

She’s the black and white one in the front. If you recall, she had an accident when she was about six months old (we think she panicked at the sight of a fox and banged he spine on the edge of the chicken house) and her legs were paralyzed. I didn’t expect her to live long after that, but I kept her fed and clean and occupied and damn if she didn’t live another fifteen months. Reasonably happy, as far as I could tell.

Unlike her sister, the pretty little black hen in the picture, who grew to be a beautiful big fat bird and dropped dead for no apparent reason at less than a year old.

Chickens. They’re a bit like that.

Funny thing, though — we’ve had six bantams now, and every one was a unique entity. They have separate personalities and different tastes in food. I can tell their voices apart. When chickens are added or die, the weight of their personalities changes the behavior of the whole flock. They have chickeny souls, dammit.

And I’m having chicken for dinner again. I can’t process this. I think I shall drink instead.

Join me in a glass in honor of Magpie, won’t you? A nice little bird who never got a chance at the life she deserved.

sock it to me

December 2, 2014 — 10:47 pm
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