As I do every morning, I donned muck boots and cold weather gear and drudged to the barn to feed the beasts. In my half-dazed stupor, I missed the fact that there weren’t a group of hens – or is it gaggle like geese  – following me to the feed room. Considering their level of intellect, I am always astounded that from across 40 acres every single last chicken turns up on my heels as I head towards the feed room each day. Until today.

Today, Henrietta and King Cluck met me AT the feed room where they were already curled up on a stray bale of hay. Where were the other five hens and As Yet Unnamed Junior Cluck? I asked King Cluck. I was met with stony silence, and the sound of pecking as he and Henrietta devoured eight chickens worth of breakfast.

Upon closer inspection, I found three eggs in the hen house – a sure sign that at least three were recently around – and no sign of flying feathers – a sure sign the fox has come for a visit. HUH! This was very odd, indeed.

After feeding the llamas and alpacas and questioning Papa and Mama Llama about the whereabouts of their feathered charges, I was met with a questioning stare towards the hay bales. Clearly, no one was about to spill the beans on this mystery unless more hay was forthcoming. I was stumped.

I presumed the harried hens were gathered under the pool deck or holed up in the stone wall. Nope. Then I decided that maybe they knew a good thing when they saw it, and were hanging under the wild bird feeders. Again, nope. Perhaps they had gone on their morning walk about to the top of the field in hopes of finding blueberry bushes blooming or a stray caterpillar. Nope and nope.

I was perplexed. How do you lose five hens and a rooster without a single trace of their existence? Not a feather to be found. No sign of a broken fence. No dog. No cat. No footprints or hoof prints or moose or bear prints. No signs of fowl life.

I decided to walk back to the house and check again in a bit. On my way back, I caught a glimpse of Henrietta and Cluck smacking their lips and fluffing their very full bellies as they curled up in a sunbeam for their mid-morning nap.

“Okay, you two what gives?” I asked.

The only answer I got in return was a snore. Interesting…

I returned to the house – searching the whole way. I looked under decks, behind tractors, in the hay bales and on the covered porch. I strolled to the end of the driveway and peeked under blueberry bushes. Not one bird was anywhere to be found. Now, I am sad. I begin to think about egg free mornings. No fluffy yellow omelettes. No egg sandwiches.

At 10, a friend stopped in for coffee – I told her of my plight. She suggested that they were all sitting right outside of my front door gobbling up bugs. She swears she passed them on the way in. I tell her she’s nuts. Turns out she’s not. There, happily munching on fallen crab apples and birdseed are five hens and a rooster. No sign of King Cluck or Henrietta. I am perplexed.

I insist we walk to the barn. We do, and still no sign of King Cluck or Henrietta. The hay bales sit empty. The snoring has stopped, but now there are five hens and a rooster hanging in the feed room waiting on breakfast. Interesting, I think to myself. Very interesting…

It seems a split has occurred. We are now witnessing the re-throning of Cluck. He banished the smaller birds while he and his wife devoured breakfast and now the others have been allowed to return. I’ve no idea where he had them hidden, or where he and Henrietta now hide, but I swear as I returned to the house I heard Cock-a -Giggle- Giggle from inside my screen porch and now that I think about it, there was a white feather perched on the top of cemetery rock. This cannot be good.