Crimes of nature

In some ways, Sugar was everyone's favorite chicken. She was the Tiny Tim of our little flock, the fragile, lame banty hen that had a harder way to go because of her deformed feet. But she was also a trooper because she managed to keep up with the other chickens.

Sugar had a charm all her own. The other day Selby told me she loved Sugar's tail because it was "like an enormous rudder on a tiny boat." And if chickens could talk, Sugar would have been the one to hobble forward and say, "God bless us, everyone!" just like in Charles Dickens' Christmas Carol.

That's why it was so upsetting this morning to find out that a coyote got her last night while we were asleep. Our chickens have free range of our place during the daytime, but they always come back to roost in the chicken house at night. Last night, though, Sugar decided to nest under a huge cedar tree right outside our back door.

Donald was concerned about her, and he waited as late as he could to close up the chicken house. Still, she didn't come out from under the tree. Then sometime overnight a coyote found her there and carried her off to our pasture to kill her.

The coyote was still hanging around this morning when Donald went to let the other chickens out of the henhouse. It approached within feet of our back door, and even when Donald charged at it, it ran off only a little ways and stood and stared at him, waiting for its chance at another chicken.

That's how the day started. Life in the country has moments like these, and the fact is that most farm chickens live relatively short lives because when they stop laying, they end up in the stewpot. And when you think about it, you realize that it's all part of a huge cycle that goes on forever and ever. Every creature needs to eat, and most of them--ourselves included--eat other creatures.

But it feels a lot different when you know the victim. Then it feels like a crime.

We did a lot of work outside today so we could keep an eye on the other chickens. Now we're down to three adult chickens. We talked about how fortunate we are to have two of Sugar's chicks who just hatched earlier this week. And considering that we eat storebought chicken on a regular basis, we felt ridiculously sad at the loss of our little lame hen.

As the day ends, our sixth chick is working its way out of its egg, and our five new chicks are peeping sweetly from the brooder. Right now I can't imagine ever letting them out to range in the big, wide world, but of course we will . . . eventually.

That's just the nature of things.