Tuesday, August 9
Weekend Catch-Up: Sunday
A humid and slightly miserable day to be outdoors, however we had obligations to attend a reception, held outdoors. Everyone was sweating and hair was frizzy but we arrived home after having a nice time.
The ladies were grazing in the yard and under the cedar bushes as usual and Roy went out to tend them at around 9pm and do the head count. All 18 chickens usually find their way back to the coop around dusk and the nightly bed check goes well.
But not on Sunday. Roy came into the house and announced that we were missing 8 ladies. More specifically, I was missing 8 ladies.
Flashlights in hand we wandered around the yard, sure that I would see them running towards me or roosting on a fence or int eh neighbors barn.
No luck. And I was worried. I get attached to my animals and I have named a few of the ladies I can tell apart from the others. But I care about them all, name or not. Missing were Abigail, Gladys, Mildred, one of my newer rhode island reds, and three golden comets.
Abigail and Gladys are two of my absolute favorites, being from the group of original 6 from which we started our flock. Both friendly and easily handled.
I went to bed that night like a nervous parent. What were my kids doing? Don't they have any respect for the rules? Do they know how much they are worrying their mother?!?!
The next morning I looked out the bathroom window and saw chickens in the yard. I had not let the ones who behaved out of the pen yet so i knew some of the "lost" ladies had returned. I went out in my jammies and sandals and did a head count. Abigail and Gladys were there, as well as the rhode island red and the three golden comets. But not Mildred.
I looked around the yard, calling "here chickie, chickie, chickie" but she was nowhere to be seen.
I kept an eye out for her all day but she never showed up. So Mildred is officially missing. No signs of an attack by a fox or coyote in the yard but plans of exploring the fields did not pass today due to pouring, all-day rain. I envision her hold-up somewhere dry, waiting for her chance to make her way home.