She was the only one of five pullets (teenage chickens) that survived real life on the acre.
We are new at this and I take the blame for their untimely death.
Now I know the difference between 1/4 and 3/4 size farm wire fence. (Thank you crusty Silverton farmer at Wilco.)
I also know that raccoons can seek and destroy.
And I know that "Speckle" is a survivor.
We never saw one tail feather of those four birds...
but we did find Speckle...cowering under a bush, battered and bruised...but alive.
Speckle, always the friendly one, cooed her way into AbbySue's arms and back to the laundry room.
Poor bird was shell shocked and lonely, so Ben brought down a fuzzy dinosaur to keep her company. "It was the only thing that I could find closest to her size and shape mom."
Speckle cozied up near that stuffed animal and recuperated.
A few days later I surprised everyone when I brought home three new baby chicks.
Heck, I even surprised myself.
You know that whole..."try, try again" thing?
So, I gave it a go.
Now Speckle is the size of a falcon but thinks she's a mother. She fusses over those chicks like a an anxious Hen.
All of this drama unfolds in my laundry room.
Speckle has gained her strength and the use of her leg. Even friendlier than ever before, she perches on the slop sink watching me change loads and sort socks.
She waits for a hand to stroke her charcoal feathers and flies down to the pink princess pool filled with bedding, bird crap, and her fluffy brood.
I never thought I'd say that this is "Okay."