Farewell, Dolly!

Autumn air swept through the veranda, swooshing trees and steadying legs on the song birds around me. One song stuck out, an alarming screechy cry from a tucked away tree. I turned to look, eyes landing on the culprit.

Perched in the canopy was a white goshawk, gazing out onto the yard.

It was my first time seeing this animal so close and I felt giddy, all too keen to get my David Attenborough on. I ran inside for binoculars, hoping it would still be there by the time I returned.

Back on the veranda, I laid flat to keep the focus steady, hands shaking and back pressed against the cold stone tiles. I watched. And it watched me, our eyes locked in a frozen moment in time, me the bird enthusiast and it wondering whether I planned to impede whatever mischief it was planning.

Without warning, this glorious bird dove from the trees and swooped downward.

And I realized why, too late.

It was heading for the chickens.

I sprung to my feet and shouted. "AAAH! GET AWAY! SHOO!"

But the white-winged hunter wouldn't stop. Twenty feet from the sloped ground it glided over grass and hedges alike. Ten feet over its speed increased, wings spreading wide with proficient control. It flew beyond the property and prompted my hopes: maybe it was diving for a mouse or other forest prey.

I tried to follow, slow on clumsy feet, concerned. Listening as chickens cried out from the bushes. I heard them scamper when the soundless predator got lost in that area.

All went quiet. I couldn't help but imagine the hungry goshawk using its beak to tear into my oviparous friends.

I scoured the area for telltale signs. There were none. The flock, lost in the underbrush, hearts beating with machine-like power, possibly watching their flockmate die.

And so I waited. Thirty minutes. An hour?

Movement from the neighbor’s property to ours. That's it, I thought. Just two?

As my paranoia eased, I realized that one raptor wouldn’t have attacked and killed three birds. The others had to be hiding. Or maybe they'd teamed up to ward off the invader. There was nothing I could do, but wait again.

Some time later, I went to check on them, enthralled to find more chickens in the yard. Four. They stuck close together - two black and two white. “Where’s Dolly?” I asked. Our first chicken we adopted from friends, named after my late grandmother and coincidentally a legendary country singer who IMHO is exactly what the world needs now.

Legendary country singer, Dolly Parton (potentially Jesus reincarnated)

The survivors glued themselves to my heels as I pied piper’d them through the open lawn, all the while knowing they’d be sitting ducks if it wasn’t for the giant that feeds them. They foraged on blades of grass and sweet crawling nibbles, unabashedly throwing glances over their non-existent chicken shoulders as I lured them to safety.

I delivered them home as the sun dipped over the horizon, pondering how uncanny it was that I'd brought my phone into the run the day before and happened to snap some decent shots of Dolly.

R.I.P. Dolly

Dolly was the oldest in our flock, the matriarch, the only bird that never gave us eggs and a survivor until the end. I'll really miss her high-pitched whine and lazy eye. And how she pecked at the other birds to ensure she showed up first in line for handouts.

Darkness set. While the four survivors wasted no time nestling into their favorite spots - some I'd imagine particularly excited to find a vacant, top-floor corner apartment available in the coop - I was in the kitchen, remembering that I'd forgotten to close their inside door and that they'd get cold overnight if I didn’t.

I grabbed the flashlight and hurried out, damp-socked toes clutching paper-thin sandals. Sliding closed the door, I heard the birds chattering inside.

"That hawk came out of nowhere, didn’t it?"

“Totally. Never saw it coming.”

“Girls, what was that?”

"Poor Dolly. Anyone mind if I take her bedroom?"

Gasps.

"Did anyone hear that?"

The clucking stopped as I crouched down to count how many birds were inside. "Not again,"  I swore, shining the light just so to search in all the crevices.

Two more were missing.

The angle was bad so I jumped up, hurried to the nesting box and lifted the lid, relieved when familiar feathers greeted me. She was snuggling with the youngest and most recent addition to the feathered gang, a white Bantam who our newest neighbors asked us to watch for five days after going on holiday ten days ago.

It’s cool. We love her. And that little Bantam was sitting with was none other than…

Dolly. She made it back!

So as I tucked into bed, I fell right asleep, knowing there were five chooks snuggled up together who lived to see another scoop of handouts.