Meet Mildred

Meet Mildred, our new chicken. (And let this be a lesson to you that nagging works.)

Mildred is a Barred Rock hen, who's about nine months old. Her history is a bit of a mystery to us, but she's absolutely terrified of humans, so I can't imagine it's a good one.She sounds the alarm when I walk out the door and won't take any treats from me. (Michelle's fine with it. More blueberries for her.) It breaks my heart to think of what she must have gone through. The man we got her from wasn't the nicest (nor was he very gentle with her). I love her already though, and I'll keep bringing out worms and blueberries until she loves me too!

Our history with chickens has been a bit rough, but I can't imagine not having them. They're so fascinating, and I want to keep rescuing them - even if we don't necessarily have the best track record.

It all began on March 12, 2016, when we adopted four two-day-old chicks. Two Columbian Rocks, one Buff Orpington and one Black Sex Link, but we knew them as Pablo Eggscobar, Larry Bird, Kimmy Schmidt and Patricia.

They grew into the sweetest little ladies and wonderful pets. Every morning, I would go out and open the coop door, and every evening I'd go out and close it once they had gone to bed. They spent their days free ranging in our yard and entertaining one of the neighborhood grandmothers and her grandson on their daily walks down the alley behind our house. (I loved learning that they would stop by and say hi to our girls everyday.)

It was the perfect situation until December 9, 2016, when a fox got into our yard. It happened while we were at work, and it was a valuable lesson that the hunt begins much earlier in the day during the winter.We lost Kimmy, Larry and Patricia that day. It was absolutely devastating, but the part that came next may have been even harder somehow. Pablo got away from the fox. She flew over our fence (if you saw how high it was, you'd be really impressed) and hid out on top of our neighbor's car.

Seeing her terrified and alone was heartbreaking. Chickens typically mourn a loss for about a week - up to two if it was an especially devastating loss. This one qualified for a two-weeker. It was awful. She wouldn't come out of the hen house, had no interest in treats, and her head darted around constantly looking for predators.

Her sweet little chicken spirit was ruined.Chickens are social birds, so we knew we had to do something. My parents were generous enough to offer to integrate her into their flock, but it's incredibly difficult for a single bird to break into an existing flock. (Chicken politics are no joke.) She moved back to our coop after about a week, and the search began for a new chicken.That's when we met Michelle.

Michelle was the perfect little companion for Pablo, and they actually clicked right away. They weren't besties by any stretch of the imagination, but they were happy to have each other as roomies. They'd roam the yard together, digging up worms, sunbathing...you know, doing chicken stuff. Things were back to normal again.

But then Pablo got sick.

Toward the end of June 2017, I noticed something was a bit off. I couldn't quite put my finger on it, but I knew she wasn't herself, so I took her to the vet. (Take a chicken to the vet and write, "Not acting like usual self," on the symptoms line and see how they look at you like you're crazy. It's fun.) They ran a bunch of tests, told me she was perfectly healthy, collected their $175, and sent me on my way.

People thought I was crazy, but unfortunately I was right. Exactly a month after that vet visit, we rushed her to an emergency vet and learned that she had a virus and about two days to live.

No matter how busy I am, I spend at least a little bit of time every day watching my chickens and getting to know them better. I always knew they were strong, smart creatures, but Pablo took the cake on this one. She had completely fooled me into thinking she was healthy.

The day before we took her to the emergency vet, everything was fine. She was walking around like everything was normal. The next morning, she couldn't even stand or keep her eyes open.

Chickens are incredible. They won't show you that they're sick until they can't stand it any longer because they don't want their predators to see their weakness. It's a really cool survival trick, but it'll break a chicken mom's heart.

We said goodbye to her on August 1, 2017.

I knew Michelle would need a friend, but it took a while before we felt ready to put ourselves back in a vulnerable situation.

On Saturday, December 30, 2017, we got Mildred.

So far, so good. I don't quite know her well enough yet for a proper introduction, but I can tell you this - she's a sweetheart who's about to get spoiled.