some creatures are alpha creatures and some are beta creatures. clove was a beta. she was picked on all her life. she grew accustomed to being chased away from her feed in the morning. if we heard a stressed cry from the chicken run, it was probably clove, running away from another of her bullying sisters. clove had pasty butt as a chick, then she swallowed a shard of glass and coughed blood for a day, then she was attacked by a fox and lost most of her tail feathers, then she got diarrhea and spent a week of winter evenings inside by the fire with us, then she got lethargic and puffy and stood by herself in a corner of the coop for a week, and after each near-death experience, she would emerge and rejoin her sisters, only to be bullied and henpecked. just last week, she spent a whole day inside the coop, and then spent the next day lying down, with her wings spread, and by that evening, she was on her side with her head stretched out peacefully on a bed of straw. i think she would say that she had a good life, and i think she would say that she was ready when death came. her expectations of life were enough food and water, and the company of her kind. if the day brought a dirt bath, or some mealworms, or an afternoon of backyard foraging, she counted that an extra good day. we will miss her slightly squeaky mutterings at night on the roost, when we would massage her crop, and tell her what a good girl she was.

golden buff/cinnamon buff chicken

turtle lake, saint paul, minnesota