from endless sleep. I rose quickly, pulled on my pants in the near light, and
stumbled out into driving rain and a gale force wind. Tree chicken,
turned banshee, lay crumpled, a flurry of feathers and noise
pinned beneath Red Tail, using his agile body, trying his best to behead her,
put a stop to her piercing war whoops. Up he swooped, distracted, disgruntled and hungry.
My one-eyed warrior-ess heals near the stove.
Hawk will try another day.
Best of luck little tree chicken, here's to a speedy recovery. Good job mamma hen!
ReplyDeleteMelody, three weeks later, old biddy tree chicken has not only both eyes again, in full use, but she's aced the move with the rest of her flock down to the barn for the winter. What a gal! Happy Thanksgiving, you!
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