We have a Delaware chicken. She is our rebel hen. She represents her breed with such vigor and vitality, and thus is named Delaware.
In some ways she is the spirit animal for our yard. She doesn't really pay any attention to the other chickens enforcing the pecking order, she just moves past them and keeps her own council; digging epic holes with big, long kicks, and foraging voraciously.
Delaware lives her best life everyday. No hen ennui. No wondering why none of the other hens don't come down at night to check out what is making a noise outside the coop. When I dig a hole in the yard, she seems to be sure it is for her to better ravage the subsoil critter population, and jumps under my shovel trying to box me out for the tastiest grub.
Does Delaware often look like a dirty seagull?
You bet.
Is she a pain in the butt to keep under control?
Oh yeah.
Does she have a mild death wish for an animal that is basically been bred to be prey for everything?
Definitely.
Might we all be so focused on living our best life.