Upon arriving home last evening around 8 pm, I spied a small, dark figure in the front yard. As I drew closer I realized it was Sylvie, one of our hens. Apparently, a case of night blindness struck on her way to the coop, leaving her stranded and vulnerable in a snow drift. Feeling irritated at the fact that our take-out dinner and groceries were going to have to wait a bit, I hurried into the house to find my husband, Bret. It took a good excuse to convince him he needed to hop out of a hot shower and venture into the Iowa deep freeze to help retrieve a wayward egg-layer. Of course, I could do it myself, but how would I hold a flashlight and safely carry Sylvie? (I don’t go outside at night alone...EVER) When this wasn't working, I threw in the fact that I needed him to protect and defend me from the obvious danger of ferocious predators lurking in the dark. Then I batted my eyes at him...a gesture which I knew would turn things in my favor and seal the deal. It wasn't my proudest moment but when you're a "chicken" yourself, you learn to be creative!
Flashlight in his hand and shovel in mine -it was the closest item I could grab for defensive measures- we headed out on our rescue mission. Doing a quick head-count in the coop for the other chickens, we saw only two of our five feathered friends. They hadn't made their way to safety while they could still see. (birdbrains!) As Bret’s Maglite illuminated the box, we were quite surprised to find a large possum staring up at us. Somehow, this didn't seem the right time to point out how I was right about creatures of the night waiting to eat my face off, so I kept my thoughts to myself. I held the flashlight while he tried to shoo it out with MY shovel. (I knew we'd need it!) With some hissing to protest being ousted from his warm bed, the pointy-nosed little varmint wandered off into the night.
Next came the hunt for hens! Sylvie was quickly rescued from her snow bank and Lola squawked to let us know she was nearby as well. Thinking we were done and could finally go into our warm home and waiting take-out, I felt relieved and I'll say it......Quite proud of myself! The hens were deposited securely into the coop and I was headed for the door when I heard Bret say, "Where do you think you're going? We're still missing one!" Ugh! Teeth chattering and stomach growling I was tempted to tell these troublesome cluckers that the dinner on the counter growing colder by the moment was indeed fried chicken! Maybe it would’ve terrorized them into more appropriate behavior!
Four of our little freaks with beaks were safely in their possum-free coop and we set out in the dark to find Sing, the last missing hen. Bret took the lead with the light and I was right behind him with my trusty shovel...you know, in case I needed to protect him! Luckily, the freshly fallen snow allowed us to find tracks and see where a variety of animals had been coming and going throughout our yard. Trails of rabbit, cat, possum, and chicken stretched out before us. We faithfully followed all that were the feet of fowl but... to no avail.
Thankfully there was no evidence of feathers or blood. However, as we trudged along with the wind swirling around us, a sense of dread flooded over me. Thoughts turned to Pip, Charlotte, and the others who were torn apart by coyotes in the night almost a year ago...horrible! Had Sing suffered a similar and tragic ending? Where could my little Sing have gone? Often shunned by the others, had she finally had enough and run away to carve out a new life for herself free of torment, ridicule, and hen-pecking? Our lovely Belle, an Iowa Blue hen, left us in the fall for a life of wild freedom. Had the wanderlust bug bitten little Sing as well? Would we be left wondering every day what had become of her? As we gave up the search and locked the doors for the night, Bret tried to comfort me with the knowledge that we'd done all we could, yet a lonely tear rolled down my frozen cheek. Picturing Belle and Sing reuniting in the warmth of the tall prairie grasses is the last thought I had as I drifted off to sleep. Little did I know the saga wasn’t over!
Saturday morning, Bret opened both the box and coop doors, but the rooster stayed put, obviously planning to keep a tighter rein on his girls. Maybe he could feel the big snow we were expected to get...maybe they were all fretting over what could've happened to their coop-mate. Could they be feeling guilt due to the poor treatment she's suffered at their hands - or feathers- lately? Were their tiny bird brains wondering who might be next?
The silent snow fell all afternoon and into the evening. The chickens stayed in all day...as far as we knew. When Bret went out to lock them in for the night it was deja vu... like the movie Groundhog Day. The events from the previous evening were repeating. The birds were in the coop but not in their box. Our big-eyed, smiling possum was back and looked quite smug in his now "usual" spot. And......one hen was missing! Lola flew the coop! What was happening? Why couldn’t the rooster be lost instead? We don't like him anyway! Bundling up a bit warmer this time we began yet another search and rescue mission. Flashlight and shovel in hand, (yes, again....you know me by now!) we would boldly go where no one had gone before...since last night, anyway. This time we followed some tracks into the tractor shed just to be sure. Nothing there but a bird in the rafters that swooped down and scared me to death! (He didn't appear the least bit frightened of my shovel.) Walking back toward the house I heard a very faint but familiar sound. Curled up in a feathery ball against the house was Lola...AND SING!!! Like any good mother, I let them know how happy I was to have them back safe and sound. Then I really let ‘em have it for making me worry! The anger subsided and I realized it was probably her new found "street-smarts" that had kept Lola safe. Maybe there would be a new respect for her around the feeder from now on! It was a joyous reunion as the girls were tucked into their rodent- free home for the night. As we neared the soft light glowing from our own safe "coop", Bret saw a faraway look in my eyes and asked what I was thinking about.
"Oh nothing,” I said with a grin. "Just an idea for a story."
THE END
Jessica Munsen
Milford, IA 51351
[email protected]
Chicken Tales
1190 words