Scully was my favorite chicken. To me she was beautiful. She was such a silly girl, a lap chicken really. She would always follow me around asking for treats, so curious about what I was doing when I was working in the garden or around the yard. Head cocked to the side, always so vocal making silly chicken sounds to say hello.
When she saw me she would come running full speed right to my feet and always let me pick her up for a hug. I got her when she was 2 days old and she was such a cute little fluff ball of a chick. Sold to me as an Americana, she layed pretty light blue eggs most days during the bright months.
As she grew up she started to look different from the others, her coat looked almost leopard print and her beak started to crisscross. She had a scissor beak that looked so goofy, and the most gorgeous plumage I had ever seen on a chicken. She had a beard for awhile, but always made such a mess eating that all her beard fluff fell out from the weight of dried on food.
She was such a sweet chicken, and of all of my hens I adored her the most.
A few weeks ago I rehomed most of my hens as I knew I wouldn't be able to bring them with me to my new home. Scully was the exception, I just had to bring her, and so I did this past weekend. I set her up in my mom's garden, which is fenced to keep out the deer. At night I locked her into a wire dog crate in hopes of keeping predatory critters out.
Last night I dreamed about her and a rooster that looked just like her, I don't know the significance of that. Maybe it's just to show me there will be others like her in my life one day.
Early this morning, the second night she spent here with me, she was attacked and killed by some raccoons.
I find it so ironic that she could live 2 years in the country just fine and as soon as she moved to town wildlife got her.
Such is life.
Might be a little morbid to share, but they left me the top of her cute silly looking beak. And I felt like sharing a pick of it here to memorialize her. This part of her will be buried at the base of the roses, to nourish the pant, and she will become them, blooming in my memory year after year.
