Yesterday when I came home, I found the cat sitting soaking up some sun–inside the chicken coop.

The chicks, on the other hand, were wandering around under the trees.

I can’t imagine what gave them the urge to relocate.  After my first laugh, I did a quick count and realized that we were missing the sixth chick.  The cat didn’t look too smug, though, and there weren’t any feathers, so I wasn’t too worried.

Several hours later, with the resident red-shouldered hawks screaming from the sky and the shadows under the trees looking hungry for chicks, I still hadn’t found her.  After hiking over the fifteen surounding acres, searching under the coop with a flashlight, and searching up and down the street, I gave up.  It’s rare to raise a brood of chicks and not lose one or two, and it appeared that we’d just experienced our first casualty.

Except this chick wasn’t ready to throw in the towel.  She spent all night outside, and all the morning, too, as we left early.  But this afternoon she was waiting for us by the stairs to the deck.  She has sinced rejoined her sisters, and shows every sign of being content.

All the same, I think she’s earned her name–The Wanderer.

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