There are some chickens that come around and make you feel privileged just to have been in their lives. Silly as it sounds, it's true, at least for those of us who keep our birds just for pets. Blizzy was one of those chickens. Blizzy was a survivor. She was the very last of the birds from our 2009 brood. She survived predator attacks, illnesses, genetic issues, and the egg-laying problems sexlinks often have. She had always been a personality, running around the property seemingly with a purpose in mind, all the while getting into things she shouldn't and exploring where hens typically aren't allowed. And everywhere she went, if you found her, she would greet you with a, "Bwaaaaaak?" She had an attitude at times. If you walked past her and she disapproved, she would make sure you knew, following your feet as if she would fight them if only they would just slow down! Give her a chance to fight, and she'd instead tell them off with a, "Bwaaaaaak!" Blizzy was always silly, even when she squatted. I frequently would find her squatting nearby just because of my presence, stomping her feet and swinging her wattles. Blizzy was a professional at finding the places we least wanted hens, such as a freshly-tilled patch meant to be a garden. When Blizzy was excited, say for a treat of apples, she made it pretty obvious. Blizzy was one heck of a bird, through and through. And then she fell ill. When Blizzy came off the perches on November 28th, she could not walk. I immediately brought her inside. Soon, it became clear that her inability to walk was causing her some discomfort. She was over-heating and unable to stay out of her droppings, so I made her a sling. She seemed okay, but there were obvious flaws in that sling. I eventually replaced it after a second try with her on the floor again. Even in the new and improved sling, she continued to deteriorate. Finally, she quit eating on her own. She was starving to death, and she began to show it. To the end, she maintained her attitude... But in spite of it, I could see she was uncomfortable. Her feet had begun to atrophy, her breast bone stuck out... Finally, when I was feeding her today, she just gave me a long, sad look and I knew, I just knew that she was done. When I picked her up, she was alarmingly light, even though I fed her by hand every single day. She was weak, even though I exercised her legs every day. I held her in my arms and she looked up at me with fear. Was she ready? Had I jumped to this decision too soon? But I knew Blizzy, and I knew she was uncomfortable. She was not coming back. Blizzy was beloved. When we put her down, she was surrounded by people who adored her for the three-and-a-half years we had known her. As we waited for her to go, she was talked to and petted. At first she was scared, but soon she settled down and fell asleep. And then she was gone. Blizzy... I can't believe I'll never hear her little, "Bwaaaaaak?" again, or have to retrieve her from the back of the garage again, or see her silly squatting dance, or laugh as she runs to get to treats before anyone else. There will never again be a project interrupted by Blizzy having to investigate this or that or running into my path after something that looked like it most probably was something for her to eat. I always hoped that Blizzy would live a long, long life and not have to suffer the genetic defects of a red sexlink. The only thing I can take comfort in is that she had the best life a chicken could live, and in the end she was not just given up on. She was loved, right down to the very last moment of her life.