We can't say this enough: Clemmy the Clementine was a menace, and we mean that as the highest compliment. Our take is that a chicken who makes you work for your friendship, who treats your back door like a personal heist target, is the kind of bird you never forget. The user who shared this loss described a long fight against whatever took Clemmy, and in that fight we see the same stubborn, break-in energy that made the bird so unforgettable. It's a painful reminder that the very traits we love most, the determination, the mischief, the refusal to stay where they're put, are the ones that make losing them hurt the deepest.
For anyone who's ever had a hen that treated your house like an extension of the coop, this story hits right in the chest. We've written before about the scary moments when things go wrong, like the time a bullied hen's eye shut and needed emergency isolation advice in My bullied hen's eye is shut: need advice for my feathered friend. And we've covered the gut-wrenching scramble when a layer's body gives out, as in When your egg-cellent layer has a fowl day: prolapsed vent advice. But Clemmy's story is different. This wasn't a sudden injury or a strange new sound from the flock, it was a long, drawn-out battle that the owner fought alongside the bird. That's the part that makes us cluck with both admiration and sorrow. You don't just lose a chicken; you lose a tiny, feathery roommate who had opinions about where she belonged.
Here's the concrete takeaway, and we're stating it plainly: if your chicken has ever tried to break into your house, consider yourself lucky and her a legend. That drive to be where the humans are, to push past boundaries, is the same spirit that makes them fight when they're sick. The user who posted this is mourning a bird that didn't just live in the coop, she lived in the cracks of the house, always scheming. So the next time your feathered friend pecks at the screen door or slips past your feet when you're carrying groceries, pause. That's Clemmy energy. That's the spark that makes a chicken unforgettable. And when it's gone, the silence in the house is louder than any cluck. We're left wondering: how do you ever fill a hole shaped like a clementine who was always, always trying to come in?