Goodnight, Ladies

Last Friday started like any other day. The kids and I got ready and got to work on chores. Addison and I suited up and headed out into the snow to feed the chickens and break the ice on their water and give them something to drink. The chickens have dealt with winter admirably. They don't like snow on their feet and have a hard time walking in it when it's deep, but they're always up with the sun and out to greet us when we go to take care of them. Nate shoveled them a nice path and put some fresh straw out for them to stand on, and they really enjoy that. They pretty much just spend their whole day standing there in the straw.

A couple days earlier some dogs from down the road had gotten loose and come bounding into our yard. Dogs and chickens don't exactly mix, and I heard frantic bawking as we were getting home from the grocery store, so I sprinted to the back yard and had to chase the dogs off with a rake. The poor chickens were scared to death and had all headed for the hills. I had to find them (not too hard with the brown ones), round them up, and help them get through the snow back to their little straw patch. It was very satisfying to protect them and reassure them. What can I say, chickens bring out the mother hen in me.

Anyhow, as Addison and I approached the coop, no one was out to greet us. Sometimes feeding time coincides with laying time, so I hoped they were all in there making giant eggs for us. But as we got closer, I started to feel a sense of dread as I noticed lots of tiny feathers in the chicken run. I wondered if it was always like that and I just hadn't noticed. Then I started to panic when I saw a tuft of gray fur snagged on a staple on the coop. I ran around to the back and told Addison to stay where he was. The outside door was pushed inside the coop and covered in scratch marks. And there inside were lots of big feathers, and our girls. No survivors.

I tried to be brave for Addison, but failed miserably. We both cried. A lot. And then I had to go tell Bryn. She didn't really understand until I told her that Baby was gone. She cried a little then, but seems to be okay. She's still pretty little, I suppose. I cried for a lot of the day. It was just so terribly sad to think our our little flock out there and how scared they must've been. Nate came home early to take care of the aftermath. It was a pretty somber affair. And of course we live in the arctic tundra, so it wasn't the most Christian of burials, which did not help matters. Whatever the varmint had been (we suspect a raccoon), it had broken their necks and left the bodies completely intact. If I ever get my hands on that thing . . .

Anyway, the long and short of it is that they were good chickens. And yes, it's a little ridiculous and maybe even comical to be so sad over chickens, but they were our ladies. We had a good run with them. We're different people because of them. We loved 'em. And although we surely have many more bright days of chickening ahead of us, these were our first.