RIP WADDLES McGHEE
Waddles McGhee fell in to the spa this morning and drowned. She was a gorgeous bird, a Gold-laced Cochin.
Beautiful, but one that marched to her own beat. If all the hens were to come running for a treat, Waddles would be on the other side of the yard pondering an oak leaf. When all the birds come in at night, she would still be paddling lazily around in a hole she’s dug and paying no attention to the crowd. She was so off the charts odd, that none of the birds paid her any mind, and all of the roosters ignored her, quite a feat.
She seemed happy enough with her life and I know that I’ll miss her goofy wanderings around the place. RIP Waddles.
This is Waddles McGhee
© Laura Quick
She’s a beautifully marked Gold Laced Cochin and a *huge* pain in the ass. All of the other hens come running when I go outside, on the odd chance that I have a treat for them. Not Waddles, no, instead, she’s in the garden lazily spinning circles in a dust bath, far to busy to pay me any mind.
If I want to go somewhere during the day, all I need is a slice of watermelon or a bunch of parsley to get the hens rushing into their pen. All except Waddles - no, she’s found a fascinating oak leaf to peck at on the patio.
Every night, the hens dutifully turn in at dusk and take their proper spots on the roost, but not Waddles. I have to chase her fuzzy butt around the yard after dusk to make sure that she hasn’t chosen a roosting spot that is likely to get her eaten.
Never have I worked so hard to save an animal, from herself. :)