A Little Bird

I don’t always close the chicken coop.  But tonight I did.  The weather had turned and I’ve gotten over 3 inches of rain in the last 36 hours.

It was dark, wet, and windy.  I pulled on my raincoat, grabbed a flashlight and slipped on my boots.  Trudging through the rain, almost slipping my way down the mud-soaked path, I closed the pop-door and went in the coop.  They were all on their roosts, settling for the night.  They all have their particular spots that they roost. 

I turned to leave and stopped.  On a whim I counted.  Twenty-five.  I was short one. I counted again, and realized which chicken was missing.  

Cheetah – Tess' bantam Sicilian buttercup hen.  She’s tiny; lays tiny white eggs in very unlikely places – rarely in the next box.

I checked the roosts, to make sure she wasn’t scrunched up next to someone to keep warm.  Nope. Managed to annoy quite a few of the hens, trying to see if she was hiding.

Back outside, with the wind blowing the rain sideways, I checked around the coop, shining the flashlight in all the dry-ish little nooks and crannies.  Nope.  Trudging across the yard, I checked the dog house and the other smaller coops that aren’t in use right now.

Then I saw her.  She was huddled in the corner against the house, sopping wet.  She’s a skittish little bird and doesn’t like being held, but she didn’t run or fight at all.  I picked her up, setting her in the crook of my arm to keep her a bit drier.  She didn’t squirm.

I carried her back into the coop and set her on the roost.  She just sat there shivering and staring at me.  Then, slowly, she started “purring”- little chirpy, purry noises.  Still shivering, she shook and fluffed her feathers a bit, then cuddled up next to the rooster who almost tucked her under his wing, chirping back at her.

I left and trudged back up to the house.  My pants were sopping wet, my coat dripping water, my boots covered in red mud.

But I felt better.