We had adopted a pair of white hens about a year ago. We named them, aptly enough, the White Chicks. They were virtually inseparable, seeming to watch one another's back. But chickens can only do so much. One was killed by the late and not so lamented Teddy, the dog we adopted from the people down the road. The remaining White Chick laid the biggest, whitest eggs. A couple weeks ago, she had been brutally assaulted by one of the roosters. It is their way. Tenderness is not part of the chicken mating ritual. Half her head was covered in blood and we thought she had had her eye pecked out. We brought her in the house and nursed her for about a week. She still had the eye, but it was of no use. She was half blind. When we returned her to the general population, she seemed like she was shying away from the others. She would turn her head like Linda Blair in the Exorcist, just to see around her. I had a special place in my heart for White Chick. I felt her vulnerability. Soon enough, she was laying those big white eggs again... right up until the day before yesterday. She seemed alright. I found her on the hay bale, close to death yesterday morning. She passed away fairly quickly. I don't know what happened. I mourn her loss and am a little uncomfortable with this image. I think it is beautiful, but sad. Very sad.
