We’ve lost The Barnevelder now too. It was so sudden. One day she was running around, seemingly perfectly healthy, and the next she was gone. She seemed a bit sluggish so I brought her inside to keep an eye on her, and she died while we were out picking up medication.
When we first got her she was so friendly. She would chase after me, climb up my jeans into my arms, and purr happily once she was held. As she got a bit older though she suddenly decided she wanted nothing to do with people.
She wasn’t the prettiest pullet, but she was so awkwardly cute. She was all feet, and her clutch-mates had pulled almost all her tail feathers out. The remaining feathers were stained purple from blu-kote.
The first time I brought her outside she took the most awkward looking sunbath I’ve ever seen. It pretty much sums her personality up in one picture.
I never ended up giving her what would be considered a proper name. It wasn’t for lack of trying or caring, it’s just that nothing seemed to suit her as much as The Barnevelder did.
She was so weird. I once opened the nesting box to find Lucy sitting on her. She wasn’t even in the box to lay an egg, she was just hanging out.
She was completely neurotic. She would practically shed feathers if you just looked at her.
She was beautiful though, with mahogany feathers etched in a double lace of iridescent black.
She was the first of my hens to lay an egg. Despite the light tan of her first egg, she eventually started laying a lovely deep terracotta colour.
She was just warming up to me again. To riding around perched on my arm. To hugs and having her hackle feathers preened. She even purred again, once or twice.
In a way, I suppose it’s fitting. Her and Lucy were always together, and if they were apart for more than a few seconds they would call sadly for each other. Now she doesn’t have to be without her friend.