I don’t have favorite hens, but I have a strong bond with Little One — our littlest Black Barred Rock hen who has just one eye after an accident in her pullet-hood.  There was a week back in March when I didn’t know if she’d live.  She did survive, and I think she thrives.  She takes care of herself last but strategically — always when the other hens are busy doing other things.  She also doesn’t take attitude from anyone.  I learned that she hangs back in the run when I let the girls out to range because she wants to eat in peace so I always make sure to shake the feeder so she gets enough of all the heavier best bits she wants. This photo of her is from April, when she was still a young pullet.

But there is a sweet little Buff Orpington who also has me wrapped around her finger.  She is the first one to figure out how to get into the garden, and she does so more regularly and always in heart-warming ways. 

Once I found her coo-ing in a rose bush.  That soft (manipulative) coo-ing sound tugs on heart strings.  She also has become quite adept at working her way through the  strings on top of the gate that separates the huge backyard (1/3 of an acre with creek) and the vegetable garden.  This week I’ve found her doing this twice.

Today I carried her out to meet Eloise’s school bus.  I realized while I was holding her that I was doing that rhythmic rocking that people do when they hold infants.  And then I realized that this big fluffy chicken is about the weight Eloise was when she was a babe, and I rocked her just the same.