We'll miss Martha - and so will the Vandellas

What a sad day in our household. Martha, the hen with attitude and soul, has passed away after a short illness. Yes, Martha, our first hen, the chicken who adopted us, has gone to that great coop in the sky.

Our feathered friend will be missed: Martha (left) and the Vandellas

She had been off colour for a couple of days and last night she was very subdued under the henhouse. She barely moved and was not particularly interested in food. Most unlike our girl. I carefully lifted her into her quarters and she simply hopped into her own nest box - there are four - and snuggled down in the clean straw. It was business as usual for the busy Vandellas, Mrs Pepperpot and Ruby, who were oblivious to their old pal's plight. Heads down and tails up, they tucked into their evening nosh while Martha looked on quietly as I shut them all away for the night.
This morning, old Martha, remained in her nest and it was obvious she was not feeling well. She wasn't interested in food or water, and barely moved as I stroked her feathers. Her breathing was erratic and I feared the worst. My wife then went down to see her, too, but there was little we could do other than to make her comfortable and she died shortly afterwards, still in her very own nesting box.
Martha's appearance into our lives was unusual, to say the least. She belonged to neighbours who were losing their hens to foxes at an alarming rate two and a half years ago. This was mainly due to the fact that their quarters were not secure. So Martha took it upon herself to swiftly vacate the premises, unlike her more timid feathered friends who were all eventually devoured.
Her destination was our house and she began to hang about in the back garden. Unknown to me, my wife had started to feed her with bird seed in an upturned frisbee and water was provided in an old dog bowl. Indeed, our soft Labrador seemed to hold no fear for Martha and Sweep, the Spaniel, was a mere puppy.
She would suddenly appear from under a bush or emerge from a shrub in the mid-afternoons, wander about rooting for grubs, eat what had been put out for her and then disappear. We later discovered that she was sleeping behind a garden shed. We tried, unsuccessfully, to catch her because the cold November weather was beginning to set in but Martha was so quick and easily evaded all farcical attempts to corner her.
But after a week or so she turned herself in - on her own terms. I was in the lounge, my wife was in the kitchen; the back door was ajar as Hector, our laid-back Lab, lumbered off to do a wee. My wife suddenly called out: "I think you'd better come in here. We have a visitor." Yes, you've guessed it. Martha had officially joined the family by stepping inside the house as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Up to that point, although we had a new, empty coop, we had decided to delay having hens until the following Spring. That decision was brought forward somewhat by Martha's unexpected but welcome arrival and a couple of days later we brought in the Vandellas to give her some company and complete the happy group.
The neighbour seemed pleased that we had taken her in but, if we're honest, there was no way she was ever going back there after adopting us. She had two and a half extra years and we like to think she had a good, comfortable life. She provided us with plenty of eggs and much amusement as she talked to us while on our laps, as we sat on the bench outside the coop. She is now buried, wrapped in a pillow case, a few yards from the bench.
Yes, we'll miss the old girl but she will never be forgotten. Suffice to say, the cold, grey Fens have looked particularly bleak today. There won't be any Dancing in the Street tonight.