Fool me once…

shame on you.

Fool me twice, shame on me.

We’ve all heard this, right?  Well, I sold some chickens on the weekend – beautiful one-year old layers that I’d raised since they were day old chickabiddies.  An ebony-black Leghorn, gorgeous Rhode Island Red, a special Buttercup & a fluffy, healthy Araucana.

An excited dad of a two-year old had bought a nice little coop and while his wife was away, he picked it up and put it in their backyard to enhance their property, bring joy to their household.  Really caring customers had referred him to me.  I was happy to help bring their dream to reality and delivered the four fat hens he’d picked out at our farm earlier in the day.

“Don’t let them out of the coop for a couple of days” I cautioned him.  There was no fenced yard for them to forage in, the great big outdoors was their playground.

And that is what they’re used to here, but a new location would take some getting used to.  They’d need to imprint on their new home.

Two days later I heard back from him that all but one of the hens was missing.  And he loved the way they looked in their yard and wanted to get more to replace them.

I feel like weeping but I’m trying not to get too worked up.

In a kind way I think I encouraged him to search his property, looking for clues of either their demise or their disappearance.

It’s a couple of days later and I start to hyperventilate a little when I think about contacting him to see if he’s found the others yet.

Char forbids me to send any more hens off to the gentleman.  I have a soft heart and am grateful for his enthusiasm to have backyard chickens.  But I hate the thought of (my) hens being their neighborhood fox or owl or what-have-you’s next meal.

Happy Hens at Wing and a Prayer Farm
I promise to behave, Mom!  Please let me stay!

What should I do?