She will be called Houdini.
The Prodigal Chicken, after 48 hours without a trace of feathers or carcass that we expected to find in the tall pasture grass or along the trails, showed up late afternoon Saturday. How she survived and where, we’ll never know.
She even consented, with some frenetic herding with flailing arms and hiking sticks, to be guided back into the chicken pen, now with a new porous roof of cattle panels and flexible green garden fence.
Apparently, the roofing is not Houdini-proof. For a second time, we don’t know how, she flew the coop. For a second time, we found her out in the jungle of uncut hay, and again managed to corral her and contain her.
Houdini has now spent two nights in the chicken house since we brought her and two pen-mates home on Thursday.
This morning, from the original two hens, the one we thought was a hen mounted Houdini in a rooster-like way.
Maybe our two original “hens” are “hims” instead.
I’m ready for those “free” eggs that are supposed to warrant these jail-breaks and abuses and foot-miles we are suffering for poultry’s sake.
I confess I was glad to see Houdini reappear. But let her escape a third time, we may see if duct tape and a cinder block are within her skill-set.