More Chicken News And It's Not That Great

I swear. I have spent half the day, wandering the yard and crying.
I have located two of my chickens, one alive and one dead. Above you see Ms. Betty's feathers- a pile of them were at the base of a tree in the yard which I missed but which Mr. Moon found.
My sweet, sweet Betty. My favorite hen whose head mean old Sam pecked bloody practically down to the brain and which I healed with golden seal and Neosporin and for which Mr. Moon butchered Sam and we ate him with dumplings.
You know, I am actually happier to have found Betty dead by a predator than to think of other endings for her. I am.

Miss Bob is over in the yard next door. My neighbor, the sort-of Crazy Chicken Lady, saw me looking for my chickens and asked if I was missing one. I said, "I am missing six!" and began to cry again.
She said that last night she and her husband were awakened by a big commotion from the dogs. They went out front and saw a chicken running down the road. Running like they'd never seen a chicken run before.
They corralled her into their side yard and tried to catch her, but could not, and went to bed. This morning they had looked for her but hadn't seen her.
Look- I've said some uncomplimentary things about this lady and her chicken-keeping but she does care about animals very much.
Anyway, she told me about the chicken and described it and I thought it might be Miss Bob. She called me later- the chicken had reappeared from the woods. I went over and yes, it was Miss Bob. She and I and then. Mr. Moon, too, when he got home, tried to catch the poor hen but she was freaked and had trees to run behind and wagons to hide under and we were unable to get her but I know she is safe and there is food and water there she can get to. We might go over in a while and see if she has roosted in a tree and can bring her home or we might just see if Elvis's calling will bring her back.
Poor Miss Bob.
I still think a human got into my chicken coop. I can't think of a predator who could have gotten them before they went to roost without me knowing about it. And if they had been in the yard, they would have gone to bed. The sun sets, the sun rises, chickens go to roost at night. It is like gravity- you can count on it. So my theory is that someone got in there and bagged a few and Betty and Bob got out and Betty got caught by a critter and Bob escaped. Believe me- chickens do not run down the road. Especially not at night. Unless, that is, something is chasing them.
Caroline says a lot of her chickens have gone missing too with no signs of a struggle. Not a feather. She thinks it's a person.
I know times are hard but really?

Well. We'll never really know, most likely.

And dear Ms. Bastard-Beloved called me from Buttfuck, Ohio because she was worried about me and Freddie offered to come and catch Miss Bob for me. And May offered to come over and pat my hand. And so many of you have written to give me your sympathy in comments. And you have no idea how much that sweetness means. I thank each and every one of you.

It's so odd- Kathleen has lost a lot of her chickens lately but she knows it's a fox. And foxes? Well, it's their job to kill chickens. That is understandable. And perhaps a fox or a coyote got mine. Or even a bob-cat. I don't know. But I think I'd have found more feathers.
But Kathleen and I both want some peeps to start again. We know where we can get grown chickens but we want to raise them from babies so they know us and trust us. And so we know and trust them.

And here I am- a grown woman who has gone through some tough times lately with friends who are so very dear to me and THIS- this disappearance of my beloved hens has been the thing to bring the tears. I feel so damn silly but I think every one knows just how much I love these birds of mine. My sweet hens. I know them and their ways, I have raised them from babies.
And I will never get another small brown egg from Miss Betty and that, that thought right there, just makes me want to cry again.

Well. Bless their hearts, those hens of mine. They brought me so much joy, they gave me so many perfect eggs. I will miss them.
And I hope we get Miss Bob home soon. Three hens are better than none and perhaps Elvis will not be so depressed.

I hope so. I really do hope so.