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| Photo copyright Aji, 2016; all rights reserved. |
Yes, that color is much on my mind tonight. It was her name: Saffron, for the red-gold color of her feathers.
We lost her last night, and then lost her all over again this morning.
She was just over 2.5 years old, roughly 2 years and 7.5 months. She was one of two remaining Yellow Sex Links (no, there's nothing like that about the name; all it means is they are bred to emerge from the egg in differing colors, sorted by sex, so that you can instantly tell them apart). We had four originally: Amber, Topaz, Sunny, and Saffron. Two winters ago, Coyote got both Amber and Topaz, along with a few others, despite the best efforts of the magpies and ravens to run him off. These were guerrilla incursions by the Trickster, far closer to humans that they are normally willing to get, and he got lucky (and we got smarter about it).
Sunny herself no longer lays; she became egg-bound last year, and developed a fistula. It took quite a bit of work to save her life, but she's happy and healthy again now, despite the permanent damage done by the egg binding. Saffron, however, was one of our best layers, and a tough girl besides.
Or, rather, a Mean Girl. Chickens are the original Mean Girls, bloodthirsty bullies not above a spot of cannibalism, either literal or metaphorical. And for some reason a few months ago, Saffron decided she felt like bullying Spice, one of the Rhode Island Reds. When one starts in and manages to submit the other, the whole flock gangs up on the Beta Girl. This is, sadly, normal flock behavior. And so we had to pull Spice out and give her her own condo in an old Dane crate to keep her safe. She's happy in there, if a bit lonely, and the filed mice are now her friends. She also gets special privileges, with a broader free range space daily than the others sometimes get; Spice has to be allowed out all day every day, while the others can be consigned to the big open run behind their coop.
At any rate, Saffron could be a little monster, but she could also be affectionate. She was also bloody independent, and would go do her thing under the RV or in the flower garden or over by Carter's tree, and come when she bloody well felt like it. Of course, if she waited too late, she'd freak herself out a little, and come running to me like a puppy on sight.
[Sigh] and last night, she didn't come when called. Neither did two others, and that's not at all unusual. They come drifting up over the course of the last half-hour or so as I'm doing evening chores, and get put in as they do. We'd seen her right up by the RV not long before, so we weren't concerned.
By dusk, I was out searching the land. She was nowhere to be found, but neither was there a single sign of struggle anywhere, not so much as a feather. We knew, logically, that the worst had happened, if with unusual neatness, but the lack of evidence permitted us to hope.
I went outside just after dawn for prayers, the dogs with me. Still no Saffron. Still no feathers. I have to keep my eyes on the ground, especially at that early hour, because my balance is so bad that I'll fall if I don't. And so there was no chance of missing any evidence of her having been taken.
I had just begun my morning prayers at my usual spot, but the dogs didn't stay nearby as they virtually always do; within seconds, She-Wolf was over by the pond, feet braced, barking from deep in her chest. Raven ran to join her, and the two became dervishes, hunting something only they could see. To be clear, I could see the space in front of what they were chasing; I just couldn't see anything in the space. And it was full light.
Ten minutes later, I retraced my steps. Where I had just walked, there were suddenly two separate piles of Saffron's feathers. I went to the studio; nothing. A little later, another pile appeared on that same route. A half-hour later, the dogs became frantic again, and I followed them. They found the kill site. It was fresh.
Whatever took her last night kept her overnight, then carried her around the land, right up by the RV, to three separate sites, and only after that, found a fourth site in which to commit the kill.
What kind of animal does that? Especially within sight of me, and yet not visible?
All Souls' is only days away. Spirits walk at this time of year, and not all were once human. What drove me to get out of bed in the dark this morning was the sound of a near-accident, the telltale scream of tires swerving in repeated S patterns at the point where so many accidents occur on this highway. Apparently the driver managed to pull it out, but my heart was already in my mouth at the sound of the skids, and there was no returning to sleep. That's far from the only incident in that spot; some have not ended so well. I don't know what caused the driver to swerve, any more than I know what took Saffron and held her alive overnight only to take her life this morning, any more than I know what caused the haunting wail we heard two weeks ago from the same spot on the highway, any more than I know what Raven fought the time he tangled with a spiral of smoke with a pair of red eyes.
But I miss our tough little golden girl, the girl with feathers and a spirit the shade of saffron. Feathers we buried today.
My heart hurts.
All content, including photos and text, are copyright Aji, 2016; all rights reserved. Nothing herein may used or reproduced in any form without the express written permission of the owner.
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