My childhood best friend had feathers

A relationship that changed my life

Hello, I’m Molly and I write about my slow and simple life in the Scottish Highlands. Please subscribe to support my work and to read more of my stories. You can also find me on YouTube and shop my Etsy Store and sustainable Teemill Clothing.

Its colder today. I tuck the woollen blanket tighter under my thighs. Light rain has started to tiptoe on the metal roof, with the odd drop being carried on the wind. Moistening my cheek. A barn with no front is a subpar kind of shelter, but its our preferred spot.

My fingers tingle with the warmth from my mug. Digestive biscuit crumbs have started to collect between the pages of my book. Like every other 14-year-old in the country, I was obsessively reading the new Harry Potter.

I make sure not to get too swept up in the magic and glance up on regular occasions. Checking that she doesn’t wander too far, as she is prone to doing. After all, this is how we found her. She came right up to our front door. Not when we lived at this ramshackle farm, but when we were back at our suburban bungalow, which was even more of a surprise.

It still remains a mystery how she got there. I remember the youngest of my 3 brothers, who was 5 at the time, announcing her presence and we all presumed he’d gotten confused or was playing a prank. Yet, there she was. We named her Katy.

I can vividly recall the morning after she arrived. I’d barely slept with excitement. I got out of bed early and crept along the landing before gently opening the garage door, where we had set up a makeshift pen the evening before. She didn’t bat an eye at my presence. I knew at that moment I would never let her go.

From that point, Katy and I were all but inseparable. These daily outings had become our routine. On wet days, which were frequent in the peak district, we would shelter in the barn. But sometimes, when blessed with a dry spell, we would wander further afield. Our 3 dogs and occasionally the cat in tow. Seeking out adventures in the wildflower-strewn fields behind our farmhouse home.

When my family decided to move to the Isle of Arran, she of course came with us. There were many discussions about the best way to do this. How an earth was she going to behave on an 8 hour drive, let alone a ferry crossing?

To our relief, unlike our whiny Labrador, she was a complete angel. Nestled in her create, surrounded by precariously stacked suitcases, she dozed most of the way. I kept up a constant stream of soothing murmurs. She trusted that I would keep her safe.

When I left for university, she was the hardest goodbye. I couldn’t stop the tears streaming down my face as I walked away. Feeling her gaze burning into my retreating back. Wondering why she couldn’t come with me.

I often ponder what would have happened if she’d turned up at some other door that day. Not many families would have taken her in. Luckily, our family was always a little bit batty. Case and point, my parents deciding to pack in their high paying jobs, leave suburbia, and home educate their 4 children on a Scottish Island. We didn’t do things the normal way.

I couldn’t imagine what my life would have been without her. She was, and always will be, my best friend.

I’m savouring the last malty flavour from my biscuit when she appears at my feet. Crooning softly, but with insistence. Turning her black feathered head this way and that. Her burning yellow eyes never leaving my hand. Tea-soaked digestives are her favourite treat.

I let the biscuit fall and she devours it in moments. The dogs don’t go near it. Not even the Labrador. It is perhaps unusual for a chicken to be head of the family. But with a family like ours, it makes complete sense.