In Memoriam
Anne Bonnie
Anne Bonnie was the most resilient and loving chicken we have ever known. Feisty, gentle, and full of life, Bonnie met every challenge placed in front of her with determination and an unmistakable joy for simply being alive.
Bonnie was our very first rescue chicken — though at the time, we didn’t know that rescue was what we were stepping into. She came to us as a supposedly healthy baby Silkie, but once we got her home and truly examined her, we realized something was very wrong. One of her eyes was severely damaged, her beak was crossed, and her skull was indented. The breeders told us to bring her back so they could cull her. We refused.
Instead, Bonnie came inside to live with us, where she would spend the first year of her life. We nursed her, raised her, and watched her adapt in ways that still feel miraculous. She learned to navigate the world with one eye. Her crossed beak — something that never corrects itself — somehow straightened over time. She became my constant companion, my best friend, and even joined me on hikes. Bonnie didn’t just survive — she thrived.
Eventually, we realized that loving her also meant letting her live fully as a chicken. She deserved grass beneath her feet, sunshine on her feathers, and dust baths in real dirt — not attempts at dust bathing on the carpet. When she was strong enough, she joined the big chickens outside, where she flourished.
Anne Bonnie would have died at one week old had she not come home with us. Instead, she was given nearly three full years of life — years filled with safety, love, and dignity. She taught us to love without expectations, to give care simply because a life deserves it, and to see the immeasurable value in the smallest, most fragile beings.
Bonnie is deeply missed every single day. But her legacy lives on in everything we do here at Fort Fluffy Butt. She didn’t just change our lives — she created the path that led us here.
Bam Bam
Bam Bam the White Crested Silver Laced Polish was pure motion. If you crossed a squirrel with a chicken, you’d get him — twitchy, fast, and always sprinting from place to place with his incredible hair-doo flopping wildly as he went. He never walked anywhere. Everything he did was at full speed, full chaos, and full personality.
Bam Bam was one of the last chicks hatched at Fort Fluffy Butt, alongside Basil. We loved him fiercely as he grew into the young rooster he was becoming, but our bond with him deepened after an incident we will never forget. A bobcat managed to get into Fort Fluffy Butt — but thanks to extensive safety precautions, it couldn’t get back out. In its panic, it ran around with Bam Bam in its mouth for over a minute before finally dropping him and tearing a hole in the netting to escape as we ran outside.
When we reached him, Bam Bam lay completely still. We were certain he was gone. As we moved to pick him up to say goodbye, his eye twitched. Against every expectation, he survived — with only a small puncture wound and some neck pain that healed with time. Within hours, he was back with his ladies, twitching and sprinting around the yard like nothing had happened.
Bam Bam is still alive today. But when he later developed aggression toward Sprout, we were faced with an impossible choice. For the safety of the flock — and for him — we made the heartbreaking decision to rehome him with a dedicated rooster rescue. He now lives on acres of land, free to be exactly who he is, living his best life.
Bam Bam is honored here because loss isn’t always about death. Sometimes it’s about loving a creature enough to make the hardest choice — one that still leaves a hole in your heart. He is deeply missed, and his story remains a part of Fort Fluffy Butt forever.
Betty
Betty was the definition of a loving old grandma hen. Incredibly sweet and endlessly gentle, she carried herself with a calm warmth that made everyone feel safe around her. She adored her papa, who made sure she never went without her nightly “special Betty din dins” — a bedtime ritual she very much expected and deserved. Betty was also a wonderful mother, fiercely devoted to the babies she hatched and cared for with quiet determination.
We found Betty through a Facebook Marketplace listing for a chicken coop. In one of the photos, tucked quietly beside the coop, was a single, sad Silkie hen. The listing mentioned she “came with the coop.” Knowing how deeply social chickens are — and how poorly they do alone — we reached out and asked if we could take just the hen. Though they wanted to sell the coop, they agreed to let us come get the old girl after we promised her a good home.
We never learned the full story of how Betty ended up alone. The man mentioned she was “the one they just couldn’t eat,” which leads us to believe her flock mates likely became dinner — and Betty was spared because they couldn’t bring themselves to harm such a sweet old hen. Whatever her past, her future was filled with safety, companionship, and love.
For a time, we were lucky enough to have both Betty and Bonnie together — two gentle Silkies who naturally gravitated toward one another, sharing space and quiet affection. Losing Betty was another deeply heartbreaking moment, the loss of a creature we had bonded with so completely in such a short time.
Betty’s life reminds us that even those saved late in life still deserve comfort, dignity, and love. She mattered deeply — and always will.
Brussel
Brussel was a gentle, sweet Pekin drake with a heart far bigger than his head. A little ditzy and famously low on brain power he truly couldn’t hurt a fly — which is slightly unusual for a drake . What he lacked in smarts, he more than made up for in unwavering devotion to his best friend, Sprout.
Brussel came to Fort Fluffy Butt alongside Sprout after being rescued from a heartbreaking situation where ducklings were being mishandled and harmed at a high school. From the moment they arrived, the two were inseparable. They moved together, rested together, and navigated the world as one — never one without the other.
Brussel loved Sprout fiercely until the very end. Losing him was devastating, especially watching Sprout grieve the loss of her other half. Though she has since adapted to life without him, we still deeply miss Brussel’s quiet presence, gentle nature, and the constant love he showed for his bonded partner.
Brussel’s memory lives on in the way we care for Sprout — and in the reminder that devotion doesn’t need words, intelligence, or bravado. Sometimes, it’s simply love in its purest form.
Raz
Raz the ancona duck — lovingly known as Raz the Spaz — was a sweet, quirky duck who never quite got the memo that she was supposed to be a duck. Raised from a baby alongside chickens, Raz fully embraced their mannerisms and lifestyle. She acted like a chicken in every way that mattered and had absolutely no interest in duck things — including water, which she genuinely seemed to dislike.
Raz came to Fort Fluffy Butt as a tiny day-old duckling, just one week after we brought home our first four chicks: Brahma Mama, Kelenia, Znork, and Senerae. A friend who was hatching duck eggs had only one survivor and, knowing we already had young babies, asked if we would take her. We did — and with Raz, our original “core five” was complete.
She was a truly special little duck who bonded deeply with her chicken siblings and with us. One day, Raz ran up to us bobbing her head and quacking excitedly. On a whim, we mimicked her movements — and it only made her more thrilled. From that moment on, it became our thing. Every time we came out, Raz would rush over, quacking and head-bobbing with enthusiasm, and we’d do it right back to her.
Raz brought pure joy, laughter, and connection into our lives. She reminds us that family isn’t defined by species, and that sometimes the most meaningful bonds come from simply meeting a creature where they are and speaking their language — even if it’s just bobbing your head and quacking back.