When the weather is snowy, I usually leave the chickens locked up. They may be bored but have food and water and are out of the elements. Saturday, we had a break between storms, and I opened the coop doors so the birds could come out and have a change of scenery if they chose. When I did evening chores, the four little Olandsk Dwarf chickens, who had been out pottering around much of the day, were still out. I tried to gently encourage them to head towards their coop. My efforts backfired badly when they all took off flying in different directions. I don't know who was more surprised at how well they could fly, me or them.
One hen landed on the picnic table, and a second flew up onto the garage roof. I was able to shoo the picnic table bird back to her coop, but the bird on the roof looked very worried by her newfound heights. I found a flying disc dog toy, and after a few tosses above the bird, I convinced her to fly back down to her coop. Evening was creeping, and the light was falling. If you don't know chickens, you might not realize they don't move after dark. They put themselves where they want to be at dusk, and there they stay until dawn. I went looking for the rooster and found him perched on a fence. When he saw me coming, he flew to the roof of his coop. Thinking he was safe, I went looking for the last hen. I hadn't seen where she had gone when they all spooked the first time, so I looked in all the likely places. She was nowhere to be found, and the forecast was for snow overnight. This made me worried.
Meanwhile, the rooster left the relative safety of the top of his coop and flew up on the roof of our house. I was horrified when the hen landed on the garage roof, yet the house roof is far higher. I put my flying disc toy to work again and was able to spook the rooster back down to the coop. With three of the birds safely tucked up, I came inside for a while, and once it got dark, I went out again with a flashlight and Bravo. We both looked high and low, but there was no trace of that little hen. A barred owl called repeatedly from a tree at the edge of the pasture. I wondered if it was telling me it had enjoyed a fine chicken dinner.
When I did morning chores, I looked again for the missing bird. There was no sign of her. It snowed all morning, and then we had sleet, rain, and more snow. I assumed she had fallen prey to something or frozen to death in the storm.
Then, this morning, I headed out to feed the goats, and to my shock, the little bird was perched forlornly on the aluminum fence next to her coop. I dropped my water jugs and scoop of feed and walked ever so carefully to the gate. I tossed my gloves on the snow and steeled myself. I had one chance to catch the bird and return her to safety. If she spooked and flew, I would probably not be able to snag her again. She flinched as I reached for her but stayed put, and I felt triumphant when my fingers closed over her sleek feathers. One little "squawk," then she settled into my arms and let me reunite her with her flock.
Life is a series of little miracles. Some have feathers.
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