tenacity

photo: Silver-laced Wyandotte Bantam, Lucy, with Shadow

Lucy is the best chicken. Chicken of all chickens. She is a pretty little thing. Tiny, tough and fast with good chickeny instincts. Hand-picked by our friend, Dylan, who brought Lucy to our chicken town, she is my personal favorite. 

Two summers ago, she decided she was going to hatch an egg. We let her keep just one perfect brown egg. She began to sit. She sat and did not move from her post, except to take little sips of water. It didn't seem like she was eating much, her dedication to the egg was so strong. In the mornings, I would hand-feed her a little snack.  21 days later, bloop! There was Shadow. Shiny and black, with impressively long legs, it was clear that Shadow's egg was laid by some neighboring chicken and not by dear Lucy. Because of her good, sleek looks, though, we are sure that her father was the recently departed, drop-dead gorgeous Sumatra rooster, Zeke, who was snatched and dragged off by a coyote one sad, sunny day. A trail of ebony feathers told that tale. 

Anyway, Lucy was the best little chicken mama you ever saw. I once gave her a daddy-long-leg, thinking she would gobble it up immediately as most chickens do. Instead, she broke the bug apart with her beak and fed tiny pieces of leg to her baby, one at a time. 

She raised Shadow well. Much bigger than her mom, Shadow is quick and wary, a good layer with a ruby rose comb, also a perfect chicken, another personal favorite. 

This summer, Lucy wanted to hatch more eggs. She sat and looked up at me, head cocked with earnest pleading. We marked her nesting box "private" and let her sit. I don't know if the fault lies with the growing population of chicken town, unmannerly newcomers who pestered the little mother-to-be, but Lucy never made it the full 3 weeks required for a hatch. Time after time, she left the nest after 2 weeks, the eggs went cold and we tossed them into the field. And always, there she was the next morning, warming up more eggs with that irresistable, imploring look, "Please don't take them! I must do this!" We offered several helpful modifications and let her keep trying all summer with no luck. 

Even now, in the dead of this below-zero winter, Lucy is still at it. Every night when I go to put the birds to bed, I find that Lucy is keeping 1 or 2 precious eggs nice and warm, looking at me with that look. I admire her spirit. Perhaps she'll get another chance when warmer days are here.