RIP Miss Chicken

I walked out this morning to do my chores and something was terribly amiss.

No scolding or clucking from Chicken [or Miss Chicken] as we called her.
Silence from the place in the old skid steer where she had been hiding out for the past few days ... having gone...
broody.

The dog food container was tossed on its side.
I had a bad feeling.

I called out to her.

This was unusual for normally Chicken would meet me coming out of the house, scolding me for being late.
She had been known to peck on the back door when she felt we'd not come outside soon enough.
One time she got on the picnic table and flew into the screen window behind hubby [who nearly spewed all of his morning coffee from surprise].

To put it simply, Chicken was a nag.
She followed you while you did chores, making either scolding noises or talking in some sort of chicken language that we never understood.

No Chicken.
She didn't answer.

Chicken also had a habit of holding my dog Morris at bay. She'd stand in front of him all puffed up and cackle at him. He'd run to the house to get away from her.

Chicken was absolutely some of the most great entertainment we'd ever had on the farm. And she supplied us with an egg per day.

I began to look around in the dirt and spotted a black feather up the lane towards the meadow.

I spotted another black feather.
Shit.
[Am I allowed to say that on my own blog? Okay, well I did it anyway.]

I followed the trails of feathers as my heart sunk.
There was evidence of Chicken being dragged through the dirt.

And then I found her, or what was left of her.
Damn.

I miss Chicken already.
When I fed the hounds, she wasn't behind me scolding me and then helping herself to the hounds' breakfast.
The dogs never cared.
They didn't mind her pecking away at their dog food, or drinking water out of their dishes.

R.I.P Chicken