I’ve lived in close quarters with animals for 20 years, and they never surprise me. The White Hen looks to be the most surprising of all of them. When she disappeared for five days in the coldest and most dangerous days of the winter and then returned wobbling in desperation under the bird feeder, we wrote her off as a goner; she looked so wasted and weak.

We couldn’t imagine how she survived somewhere without shelter in the rain, snow, ice, and no food. Everything was covered in ice sheets and hard-crusted snow; there was nothing to peck at or eat.

We took her into a barn stall called the Hospice Hen Center, and Maria sat with her, talked with her, and fed her carefully and thoughtfully. We got her an electric water bowl as animals often keep water drinking warm water. We call it The White Hen’s Stall; now, she spends days and nights there. We both think she is blind in at least one eye, which might account for her wandering off in confusion during a snow and ice storm when visibility is tough on everyone.

She seems better every day. Her elimination is healthy and clear. She hops down near the food and water bowl, and when it gets dark, she hops up on her homemade roost (a stall board). She spends the night there without complaint. When Maria comes in to check on her in the morning, she is excited and chatty. The two of them go head-to-head and yak for a while.

She is happy and at peace in the stall and shows no signs of missing her companions, who attacked her when we tried to put her in the roost. She’s also quite happy there and has no interest in leaving. She is in the Peaceable Kingdom; Zip visits her daily and sometimes sits beside her, which she seems to like.  She looks 100 percent healthy. I think of peace and calm when I look at her. Somehow, in the mysterious ways of nature, she is just where she wants to be. I doubt she should ever go out again unless it’s in a protected space. She wandered off in deadly weather; she could easily do it again.

This experience touched me, and it has fascinated me. I go out once a day to take her photo and sit across from her. We do our kind of chatter, although it is not as strong and animated as her talks to Maria. I’m happy for her and happy for us. This has been very meaningful for her. Either I’m becoming one of those animal woosies or opening up to love and empathy, something I have always wanted to do. Maria, as always, is teaching me how to live.