At least, that's what Marcie thought at the time. These pictures were taken sometime last year, when Marcie was allowed into the house to be prepared for a photo shoot.
Normally I didn't (and still don't) allow the chickens on my bed, but I was busy with something and when I turned around to look at her, she was very intent on building a nest out of my sheets and a pair of pajama bottoms. So I let her build it and snapped some photos in the meantime. When she finished laying her egg, she hopped off the bed and went off to do something else, like to do so was business as usual.
Looking back, I'm really glad I took these photos and let her do her hen business in my bed. She passed away a few months after these were taken.
Marcie was special to me. She was like a human toddler in a lot of aspects. Whenever I went into the chicken pen and sat down, she'd come running to meet me, as if I had been gone for ages. She'd immediately settle on my right-hand side (never the left) and expect me to wrap my arm around her and hold her in the crook of my arm. If I failed to do this, she'd peck at my arm or tug on my hair to get my attention. She'd keep on doing it until I relented. She got jealous too, like you wouldn't believe. It was okay for another chicken to be on my lap as long as they were far away on my left side. Chicken-Gods forbid someone decided to sit on my lap close to her! If they did, her hackles would raise and she'd make these special noises which can only be described as the noise of indignation. You could hear it in her tone. She was pissed, and she was letting that other chicken know it. If they failed to get the message, she'd peck them until they left or until I held her back. She was never aggressive any other time; just when it was our time.
Marcie was one of those animals that leave a lasting impression on you. One of the ones you never expected to be able to pack so much love into such a little body. I don't know how she managed, but she did. I just wish I had taken a few more photos.