- Apr 20, 2013
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The day before we were to leave for vacation my husband called me at soccer practice to deliver some bad news. After mowing, he found a pile of feathers by the dogs' kennel, and only three of our four poults. I was heartbroken; my poor Rhonda was gone. I was sure it was a dog, mine or my neighbors. But there was no evidence and nothing I could really do about it anyway. The following day we left, locked up the house and shed, and headed north. We returned a week later, late enough to pull in the garage and fall right into bed. I awoke the next morning to my husband banging on my bedroom window. "Your chicken's alive!" he was shouting. When he had opened the shed to drive his truck to work (which is not the vehicle he usually takes) he found chicken litter all over the floor and windowsill. Somehow, Rhonda had escaped whoever had attacked her and hidden in the shed. She must've been so frightened that she stayed there all night, and was still there when we locked up and left. She survived the whole week on flies that gather on the south-facing window! She's a few tail feathers short now, but thriving and catching up with her sisters. Whew, what a relief!
