This morning when I stepped into the chicken house to feed and water the flock I found my sweet little chicken friend Goldie had died in the night. Goldie was the matriarch of the flock and would have been eight years old this spring. She was the last of her hatching.
I call her my special friend chicken because she followed me around the yard like a dog and would stop and squat for me to pick her up and carry her when she became tired.
Goldie was the adventurous one who spent most of her days scratching through the yard and flower beds, rather than the open pasture, where she could find quick cover from hawks and coyotes under the shrubs or the back porch. The ISA Brown hens took to her right away. She was theit leader in foraging and they followed her willingly around the property while the rest of the flock has always preferred to stay near the chicken house.
Goldie, a Buff Orpington, greeted me always with enthusiasm, spreading her wings and running across the yard to say hello and ask for a hand out. This fall I noticed she had a hard time getting around and had quit spending any time with the ISA Brown group. I knew she wasn't long for this world. I buried her this morning where the yard meets the woods on the east side of the house and marked the grave with some flat creek rocks. Rest in peace little friend.
