Remembrance of Chickens Lost

This time last year, my husband and I were debating whether to let our son have the only present he really truly wanted for Christmas. It wasn't that it was a particularly extravagant request, or that we disapproved of what he wanted. It was more that we were not convinced that he would still be interested in it a few weeks down the line.
However, after much debate and many enthusiastic and heartfelt promises made by our son, we agreed to his desire to have his very own chickens.
And I have to say, one year on, it was the best present we could ever have given an animal-mad eight-year-old boy. He adores his chickens, checking in on them every day to find the egg-treasure which never fails to elicit excitement and pleasure. He cleans them out on his own as well. (OK, so we have to remind him, but he still does it!) And they really have been no bother, as even when we want to go away, we have a willing helper who loves the eggs she is rewarded with for filling up the water and food trays.
But as we approach the first anniversary of the happy day we welcomed the chickens into our lives, we will also spare a moment to think of poor Speck, who sadly lost her life prematurely to the Not-So-Fantastic Mr Fox who prowls around our village, and who not so long ago took advantage of the nights drawing in to sneak up on an unsuspecting Speck and spirit her away while we were not looking.
We have learnt our lesson, and although we love to see the chickens pecking and scratching all over the garden (as long as they stay off the veg patch!) we leave nothing to chance and make sure now that we round them up before sunset. Chickens are perfectly capable of putting themselves to bed at sundown, but as we have learnt to our cost, a crafty fox can slink into the garden unseen and take advantage of lengthening shadows to pounce before bedtime...
So here's to you, little Speck. We hope you're pecking away quietly in hen heaven somewhere and we'll think of you on Christmas Day.