If you have read this blog for any length of time you know of our on-going laying hen angst. We lost a bundle a year ago to a predator, bought a dozen chicks whose lodging in our very home kicked this blog off late last fall. Those chicks grew and became dinner for the bob cat I love to hate, the animal that has finally inspired me to learn to shoot. (That's going well, by the way.)
That same bob cat finally got Henny Penny and Harriet, the two three-year-old hens who decided to live out their final days roosting in trees rather than in the safety of their hen house.
Henny was particularly special to all of us. She was the official favorite, a bit ditzy looking in part because of her small frame and her somewhat uncoordinated nature. No one else talks about this, but I expect she was our favorite because she reminded us of our long-ago cat, Marietta. Marietta was also white, skinny, and uncoordinated. You would think nature would get these sorts of animals first, but both long out-lived any projections, a sign that they were not likely ditzy after all.
With the activity of the bob cat this summer, we bought a new batch of chicks that proceeded to get eaten by a neighborhood cat. We had all but given up on any more birds when we found one remaining Rhode Island Red chick wandering around outside, three days after the cat attack. She needed friends.