I’ve counted several times and there are only eight red hens in the house. Where is the ninth one? Don’t see her wandering the corrals, but I’ll check again. Maybe she is around the corner of the Oberli goat house.
Nope, not there either.
Well, I’ll put the other chickens to bed and hopefully she will appear. I’d hate to leave her out all night, the fox would surely get her.
Hmmm, who is that woman up by the lawn mower? She asks if I’m missing a spotted chicken. The chicken is under the lawn mower, she lost her grip on her and she ran under there.
“Yes, that is my chicken!”
“ Where did you find her?”
“She was wandering around the chicken house at Garins. No one was sure where she came from then George mentioned that you have chickens”.
I retrieve the hen out from under the mower, she is breathing hard, scared and thirsty. My goodness it is Wilma!
I don’t normally name my chickens individually. They usually get group names such as all the Silver-laced Wyandotts are named Matilda, all the Black Australorps are named Penelope. But Wilma made herself known as an individual. As a young hen she started following me around and talking. She likes to be picked up and carried around. I think she is one of my barn cats (Connor to be exact) that was reincarnated. When holding her, I can “purr” at her and she “purrs” back. I would hate to have lost her to the fox.
Don’t know how she managed to get over a 4 ½ foot fence and across a 3 acre horse pasture during the day. Why did she wander so far from the other chickens? Must have been chasing some juice grasshoppers or maybe the wind blew her down there. It was strong that day.