Mostly this is for my own reference, but maybe you’ll think it’s fun. Here are/were all the chickens I’ve had:
- Rose (RIP)
- Alpha (RIP)
- Pudgy (RIP)
- Blanche (RIP)
- Sophia (RIP)
- Bedhead (RIP)
- Dottie a.k.a. Donald
- Barbie (RIP)
- Wendy (RIP)
- Gladys
- Anna
- Elsa
- Becky Peow (RIP)
- Roadrunner (RIP)
- Maleficent
- Norman’s Jeans (RIP)
- Roseanne
- Tuesday (RIP)
- Vanya
- Din Djarin
- Red Sex Link (RIP)
- Another Red Sex Link
- Mr. Jarndyce (our only hatch)
- Four more red ones (We stopped naming them for our own sake.)
I talked to Sammy yesterday and he said unless his family really wants chickens, he probably won’t have them when he has his own house. It makes me sad, but I get it. Keeping chickens is depressing at times. And although some in the world believe in karma, the fact that we don’t eat chicken at all matters none to the fate of our flocks. I suppose it’s because it’s not about us.
We do what we can to give them the best life while they’re with us, and although their little bodies are fragile, and sometimes we just don’t know what’s going on with them, I will continue to keep chickens and treat them with the love they deserve.
Many people don’t, or don’t want to, realize that chickens have individual personalities. They mourn their friend who pass, they have favorite people (not only because of treats), and their greatest concern is of the flock. A chicken cannot be a narcissist because they will die for their flock, and unfortunately, they will kill one of their own if they are compromising the flock.
I’m thankful for my feathered family members and their gifts, and although it purely sucks when they pass, I haven’t given up yet, and I don’t think I ever will.
Teresa Forester Adams 