Thursday, May 27, 2010

Murder Most Fowl (Bethany- Get A Hanky)

Well, to compound my funky mood today I discovered quite a number of feathers scattered around a few yards from the hen house this morning. I determined that they must have come from Miss Sukie, my butterscotch-colored hen.

Here she was just yesterday, running behind Owen. (That's strawberry or watermelon juice on his diaper- don't freak out and don't call HRS.)



Anyway, I looked and looked but did not see Sukie. Mr. Moon had not seen Sukie. She was missing and I'm afraid the trail of feathers tells the tale.

The ones in front of the hen house look like this but there are lots more. The soft downy ones, mostly white but some with her trademark butterscotch color.

I followed the trail east and found more downy ones and then this:

The trail ended with these two

right beside the giant oak on the railroad property.

I feel quite certain she is gone.
Mr. Moon and Kathleen think that a coyote or a fox must have gotten her. For some reason, I want it to have been an owl or hawk or even an eagle. Danger which suddenly appears from the sky seems more fitting for some reason. And less cruel, although of course that probably isn't true. Mr. Moon does assure me that when an owl snatches prey, it breaks its neck immediately and I would want that to be the case.

I heard no ruckus whatsoever and it had to have happened before it got fully dark. Last night was one of those rare nights I forget to close the hen house. I'd gone out to do it, thinking that surely they had gone to roost but when they heard me pour out catfood they all came running and I don't remember if Sukie was part of that group or not. Anyway, I let them stay out and went to take a shower and hell, I just forgot to go back out. But I don't think it happened in the hen house anyway as there are no feathers in there beyond the usual number. I think it happened right there in the yard, maybe while I was taking a shower or maybe so swiftly and silently that I wouldn't have heard it anyway.

Well, when you let your hens run free in the yard, you have to expect something to happen eventually. That's just the way it is. And I could keep them locked up in the coop but they're so happy outside. Every morning when I go out to feed them they are lined up, looking exactly like a group of elderly cruisers waiting for the doors to open for the first serving of breakfast. Well, except that my chickens don't wear fanny packs.

Just YESTERDAY I was saying to Mr. Moon that we were so lucky not to have lost any of our chickens since they were peeps and I KNOW better than to say things like that out loud. I knocked wood when I said it but I guess that wasn't enough. I was feeling a little bit proud, too, because every time I go over to look at the chickens next door there are one or two which are obviously sick or even more obviously dead and they lose chickens to foxes and snakes and all kinds of things even though they're all in a fenced area.

But what are you going to do? Mourn the loss of one little hen named Sukie?

Yeah. I am.

I'm not insane about my chickens. I mean, I wouldn't take one to a vet. But still. I know them by name and I know their personalities and I have my favorites and I feed them by hand and they rush up when they see me, running their funny waddling run, and the way they spend their days working for food and resting entertains and delights me. I love to watch their chicken-ways, study their chicken culture, the way they communicate and share a husband who never eats the treats I give him but who offers it to the sister-wives in a most generous fashion.

Well, I guess one of the sister-wives is dead. None of the other chickens seems to have noticed but how would I tell if they did? I am sure they will miss her at roosting time when they all line up every night in their own places. She will be missing.

Poor Miss Sukie.

I hope she didn't suffer.

She was a good hen. We shall miss her.

19 comments:

  1. Ohhhhh, I am sorry to hear this. It is as if this morning you were sensing something was off.
    Do you or have you had any plans to get another? How would the hens react to a new hen?

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  2. Oh, sooo darn sorry. I love my three hens, and I love their peronalities, their individual egg colors, the way they get all excited when I come outside. Yeah. I know about knocking on wood, too. Well shoot. Missing. Missing=Loving. Blessings.

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  3. Michele R- No. I have plenty of hens. Counting Feral Carol, I have nine which is enough. Sigh.

    Swallowtail- Yes. We love our funny hens.

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  4. Just today I was offered 4 hens and I'm so tempted but also so afraid of the inevitable slaughter.

    I miss having chickens

    Miss Sukie was a beautiful bird

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  5. I'm really sorry to hear about dear Sukie. I hate that any animal one becomes attached to has to die. Even those that I am not attached to bring sadness when they die. I wish that she would come back.

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  6. It's weird, but when we see an osprey at the beach, as we often do, we always notice when they're carrying fish in their talons, which they're flying somewhere to perch and eat, no doubt. And we always sort of high-five, because it means the species continues to thrive. But I realize now that one of them (figuratively; it would have to be an eagle or something to be big enough, right?) could have carried off poor Miss Sukie. But the circle goes on and on, and I send you love and light, Ms. Moon.

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  7. Aw. sad. you did good so far though, it's true.

    I did just post about never saying things out loud!

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  8. i love her Witches of Eastwick name...and i'm sorry she seems to be gone. poor Sukie.

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  9. Michelle- She had really pretty glowy feathers. I wish you could take those four hens and feel good about it. I know you love chickens.

    Angie- I love watching the osprey fly with fish in their talons too. Well, circle of life, it's true.

    Jo- Have I now plagiarized you too?

    Maggie- My niece named her and I have no idea where she got Sukie from. But it was a great name for a chicken.

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  10. Poor Miss Sukie.......Every time I read about your hens, I really want to go out and get myself a couple. Just two............except for the snakes that seem to follow hens.......I couldn't handle that....ya know, phobia and all

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  11. Oh, thanks for the warning. I'm so sorry. I loved when you wrote, "Yeah. I am." That's why I love you (one of the many reasons). I'm sure she went to her death with a belly full of fruit and cat food and her feathers still warm from the sun. You are a wonderful chicken mama.
    Hugs.

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  12. I'm so sorry -- you know, maybe your grumpy mood in the morning was some sort of presentiment.

    Love to you and the rest of your chickens.

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  13. What a beautiful hen. Your chickens are happy and treated in just such a good way that at least she lived a good chicken-life. I too hope that her death was fast and swift and she did not suffer.

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  14. What would a chicken funeral be like, I wonder. Would you play the Chicken Dance song on the bagpipes?

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  15. I am dreadfully sorry about Sukie. I was hoping she would turn up. Nature is cruel.

    And you are loved. Have a good holiday weekend.

    SB

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  16. I am so sorry to hear about Sukie. She sure was a pretty one!

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  17. Aw, sorry, Ms. Moon. That's a great photo you got of her and Owen the day before.

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  18. Aww, damn! Sorry to hear that beautiful Suki was snatched away from her happy life in the Mooniverse. Glad you still have nine hens to nurture, though. x0 N2

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  19. Knowing that something could happen and having it happen are two different things.

    I'd mourn too, Ms. Sukie was part of your chicken family.

    Great horned owls are absolutely silent, and mysterious creatures. But foxes are beautiful too and this time of year they have kits to feed. If Ms. Sukie's trail says fox, I hope you can think of the beautiful little foxes and maybe about how Ms. Sukie is now a incorporated into a fox, out in the world in a different way.

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