We don't eat our chickens and don't permit anyone else to eat them, either. When our hens get too old to lay eggs we don't value them any less than before, as they have earned their right to retire and live the good life among friends until they die a natural death. So when a neighbor stopped by on July 1st to ask if he could buy a chicken from us to keep his one remaining hen company (stating that he had finally killed a fox that was eating his hens), I was suspicious. The price of chicken in the grocery stores here is quite dear, even for stewing hens, and not only did I not want to relinquish one of our hens to an uncertain fate, I did not want to set a precedent for selling chickens. So I smiled and told the neighbor, no, we won't sell you a chicken but we will loan you one to keep your hen company. He said something about planning to eventually eat his hen. (Aha!) I told him to bring ours back when she was no longer needed. I also mentioned that we would come to visit her in the meantime to see how she was getting along at his place. Toad picked out a hen for him to take and I made a fuss over her, telling her that we would miss her but she would be back home eventually. The neighbor, Leon, undoubtedly thinks we are crazy for caring about a chicken, but that's okay. Off he went, carrying the red hen in a bag, leaving us to worry about her. I half expected to hear from him that another fox (uh-huh!) had taken her but fortunately I was wrong. A few weeks later, July 29th to be exact, he brought her back to us and told us that he had killed and eaten his chicken. (Double Aha!!)
How did we know that he brought us the same hen? Well, as it turned out, Toad had chosen for him a red hen with an unusual characteristic so that we would recognize her. Her comb is straight just above her eyes but then leans forward. She also tends to lay less than perfect eggs, a bit soft-shelled, due to her advanced age. Leon had called us about purchasing some eggs a few days after borrowing our hen and had mentioned the soft shells that the one we loaned him produced. (She really was only good as a companion to his hen.) Little wonder that he returned her so soon. And was she ever happy to get home! She could hardly wait to tell her sisters about her adventure.
We have about sixteen red hens, all of whom look very similar to one another and, until now, all unnamed (unlike the silkies and aracaunas). Due to her differences from the other red hens, her unusual leaning comb and her could-have-been-fatal experience with neighbor Leon, I dubbed her Leona Combsley--Miss Leona Combsley, to be proper.
Here is Miss Leona Combsley, safe and happy at home, in photos I took September 2nd.
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