Lucy is by far our tamest hen. She doesn't mind being picked up and petted (well, she doesn't mind too much.) She's definitely top on the pecking order, having no trouble at all keeping poor Violet in her place. She's also our boldest hen, coming right in the back door whenever she gets a chance.She never goes past the laundry room but doesn't hesitate at all about coming in the house. When the Preacher had the back door open, working on the deadbolt lock, she walked right between his feet and made herself at home. He wasn't in her way at all!
Lucy isn't our most comical hen--that's Violet's title, with her funny, floppy comb--but she comes in a very close second. She has no comb to speak of and no wattle, and she has puffy muff things on the sides of her head. She lays beautiful blue-green eggs (although not a one since her molt) and overall, she's a great hen. Or was, that is.
Sunday morning, I looked out the kitchen window and noticed that there were a lot of wood shavings on the girls' ramp. We went on to church and when we got back home, I went out to check for eggs. I was surprised to not see Lucy come running but thought, "Oh good, she's finally on the nest!" When I opened the box to see and she wasn't there, somehow I just knew we had lost her. I looked around and did see some feathers but not more than she had lost when molting. I grudgingly went back into the house to tell the Preacher the sad news and together we went out to search the yard, hoping for the best but fearing the worst. Our Lucy was gone and we could now only try and determined what had happened. After doing some detective work, we decided that something had climbed up a pallet leaning against the fence and helped itself to a chicken dinner. I felt really terrible, considering the fact that I had gotten complacent about shutting the girls in at night and now I felt responsible for making it easy for a predator to take our Lucy. We went inside to take a nap, both feeling a little despondent. That evening, though, we were ready and on guard when, sure enough, the culprit returned to help itself to another delicious feast--a raccoon! The Preacher managed to trap it in the round enclosure and handily dispensed with it. It was bittersweet, though, because it didn't bring our Lucy back but at least we felt that she had been vindicated. The grandkids still talk about Lucy and miss being able to easily pick her up, unlike the other hens who are more flighty. Bless your heart, dear Lucy. You were a great chicken with which to start a flock.